The Letter
by SouthernChickie
Summary: NOW COMPLETE!
1. Coffee at Midnight

Disclaimers: HL is not mine  
  
AN: This is a fic I dreamed up last year during summer school (government isn't my fav class in the world...) but it just now got high enough on the list to get posted. It's yet another version of how Richie came to stay with Mac and Tessa. It is told in flashbacks which are in bold. **The flash backs are set in season one between the episodes "The Gathering" and "Family Tree." I've taken the liberty of putting a few months between the eps**. The present part of the story is set in mid season two after "The Darkness" and before "Eye for an Eye." Again putting a couple months between the eps. The time periods are also separated by ####. If there is any confusion, please let me know and I will try to find an easier way to separate the time periods. Thanks!

THE LETTER

"Richie, I really wish you would learn to iron properly," Duncan sighed watching the young immortal haphazardly run the iron over his khaki pants.  
  
"What?" Richie held up the section he was ironing. "Do you see any wrinkles?"  
  
"What about the crease?"  
  
"I don't like creasing my pants, it looks stupid."  
  
Duncan shook his head. "Just don't hurt yourself."  
  
"Oh, hey, did I tell you I found a really good deal on a great apartment across town?" Richie asked.  
  
"Oh, really?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Duncan sighed. "We'll go look at it."  
  
"Gee, don't put yourself out or anything," Richie grumbled turning off the iron.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I don't know why you insist on checking out every apartment I find anyway. I'm the one who's going to live there, not you." He started across the loft toward the back stair case.  
  
"Is it wrong of me for wanting you to live in a decent neighborhood?" Duncan asked from his place on the couch.  
  
"Mac..." Richie hung his pants on the banister. "That would be fine, except you find something wrong with every place I find. Bad wiring, leaky windows, rent's too high..." he listed off.  
  
"Well, all that was true. Bad wiring can start a fire. Leaky windows let the cold air in and you have to pay more to heat it and if you can't afford the rent it does you no good."  
  
Richie rolled his eyes. "I could have moved out a long time ago if you'd just trust me."  
  
"Is it really that horrible of me to want to be comfortable with what you pick?"  
  
"What made you uncomfortable with the last place?" Richie asked walking over to sit in the arm chair.  
  
"Richie, I must have seen five drug deals go down on that one street alone."  
  
"So? Mac, I grew up in that neighborhood," Richie defended.  
  
"And wasn't the point of you moving in with Tessa and I to get you out of and keep you away from that neighborhood?"  
  
"That's different. I couldn't handle myself then like I can now."  
  
"Richie, no."  
  
Richie threw his hands up. "You are impossible, MacLeod."  
  
Duncan rolled his eyes as Richie went to find something for to snack on. "You'll thank me." He reached over to the coffee table, picked up the remote and turned the TV on.  
  
"Wow, you must really want to end this conversation if you're gonna drown me out with the TV."  
  
"Be quiet. I just want to watch the news."  
  
Richie found an apple and went back to the living area. "Why? You'll just read about it all in the paper tomorrow. Turn on Friends or something."  
  
"I want to see the news."  
  
"The gunman was stopped before anyone was hurt," the reporter on screen said with a cheery smile.  
  
"Wanna see if you won the Washington lotto?" Richie asked.  
  
"Want to see if you did," Duncan answered.  
  
"Didn't get a ticket this week."  
  
"Then this must have been your week to win."  
  
"Must have." Richie studied the chess board on the coffee table. After deliberation, he moved a pawn. "Mac, your turn."  
  
Duncan looked at the board for a second then moved. "I have you in two moves."  
  
"What? How?"  
  
"A four car pile up on Highway 89 today claimed the life of an elderly woman this afternoon..." the TV droned.  
  
"Like this, move." Duncan prompted.  
  
"Wet roads and dangerous driving conditions are being blamed for the accident."  
  
"Check."  
  
"How?!"  
  
"This."  
  
"The police are still piecing together what may have happened. The bad weather conditions are hindering their efforts to recreate the accident."  
  
"Checkmate."  
  
"How did you do that?"  
  
"In other news, the case that shocked the city and launched an internal investigation in the city's child protection agency two years ago is back in the spot light again today."  
  
Richie and Duncan stopped bantering and looked at the screen.  
  
"You don't think..." Richie trailed off.  
  
"Jonathan Cooper, who was arrested for abusing and neglecting his foster son, was paroled today after an evaluation. Cooper is required to attend alcohol awareness and anger management classes."  
  
Duncan turned off the TV. "Rich, you okay?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?"  
  
"Rich..."  
  
"Look, I don't think I'm gonna go to dinner tonight. I don't feel so hot." He got up from the chair and headed to the back stairs. "I think I'm just gonna go to bed."  
  
"Richie...do you want to talk?"  
  
"Not now."  
  
"Okay, if you want to. I'll be here."  
  
"Thanks." Richie went up the stairs and opened the door on the left. He flopped face first onto his bed and kicked off his shoes.  
  
######  
  
**Tessa had gone to Paris for a week and Duncan was on his own. He always got a killer case of insomnia when she wasn't in the bed with him. So to pass the early morning hours, he decided to drive to a diner and read a book and drink some coffee. He was in the booth in the corner reading when something caught his eye, a boy standing on the sidewalk digging through his pockets. On closer inspection, he realized it was the boy who had broken into the antique shop earlier that week. Duncan put his book down told the waitress he'd be right back and walked out the door.  
  
"Hey," he greeted the boy.  
  
The boy looked up startled. "I'm not doing anything," he insisted quickly.  
  
"I didn't say you were."  
  
"Then what's your deal?" the boy asked defensively.  
  
"I was just coming to see if you wanted to join me," Duncan told him in all sincerity.  
  
"Yeah, right."  
  
"You just seemed like you were trying to scrounge up some money for something. I'll pay if you're willing to keep me company."  
  
"I was just lookin' for bus money," he insisted. "And I got it, so don't worry."  
  
"Okay, I was just offering."  
  
"Whatever," the boy rolled his eyes and started off down the sidewalk.  
  
Sighing, Duncan went back to his book. He didn't know why but he felt something was wrong. A boy that age shouldn't be out on the streets by himself at two in the morning. After twenty minutes, it started to rain.  
  
"It's just going to get worse," the waitress told him as he stared out the window. "I'd suggest you leave before you're stuck here the rest of the morning."  
  
"Good idea," Duncan consented gathering his book and coat into his arms. "Thank you," he added handing the waitress a twenty-dollar bill.  
  
"You're tab was only $6.50," she protested as he opened the door.  
  
"The service was wonderful," he told her with a grin. Still not wanting to go home to an empty loft, Duncan took the long way back. He passed the little league fields and saw** **someone sitting in one of the covered dugouts in attempt to get out of the rain. Duncan turned into the parking lot and trained his lights on the figure. It was the boy again. Duncan left the engine running as he got out of the car and ran into the dugout.  
  
"Bus fare, huh?" he asked the boy.  
  
"What are you, like, stalking me or something?"  
  
"I just happened to notice you on my way home," Duncan shrugged. "Speaking of, shouldn't you be home right about now?"  
  
"Can't," the boy answered simply.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Locked me out."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because they don't want to be interrupted. What's with all the questions?"  
  
"Can I take you somewhere?" Duncan offered.  
  
"Got nowhere to go," he answered.  
  
"So you're just going to stay out in the rain all night, by yourself, until your parents let you back in?"  
  
"That's the general plan."  
  
"Would you be willing to change your plan?"  
  
"How?"  
  
"I have a couch; you can use it if you want."  
  
"You mean, you're offering to take me back to your place?"  
  
"Only if you want to."  
  
For a second, the boy seemed to seriously consider the offer. "Yeah, right," he scoffed. "I don't walk on that side of the street, buddy."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I'm not turning tricks for anyone. I'd rather take my chances out here."  
  
"What?" Duncan repeated.  
  
"I know what game you're playing," the boy insisted. "You think just because you're offering me a place to stay I'm gonna be so grateful that I'll do whatever you want me to. Not gonna happen."  
  
"Do what I want you to?" It suddenly occurred to Duncan what the boy was talking about. "That's not what I'm offering. You can call whomever you want and tell them where you are. I'll give you the exact address. I just won't be able to sleep tonight knowing I left a defenseless boy on the streets to get mugged."  
  
"Well, I'm not gonna sleep in some stranger's house."  
  
"Then don't sleep. I have cable and pay-per-view; you can watch movies all night. I also have a ton of leftovers that need to be eaten."  
  
"And you'll stay away from me?" the boy asked.  
  
"I won't touch you, you have my word."  
  
"Okay," the boy said after a minute. "But the second anything gets weird, I'm outta there."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"You'll get sick if you stay in those wet clothes," Duncan said disappearing into his bedroom when they arrived at the loft.  
  
"So lemme guess, you want me to just take it all off?" the boy shot back glancing around.  
  
"And put this on," Duncan added handing the boy some sweats. "You can change in there." He pointed to the bathroom when he glanced nervously at him.  
  
"Kay," the boy nodded and went to change. A minute later he emerged with his wet clothes in a bundle in his arms. "Wada I do with these?" he asked.  
  
"I'll wash 'em," Duncan decided reaching for the clothes. He noticed the boy was clutching a fistful of change in one hand as if he were scared Duncan would steal it from him. "Make yourself at home," he instructed over his shoulder. "Anything in the fridge is fair game."  
  
The boy slowly wondered into the kitchen continually pushing up the sleeves of the sweatshirt that he had borrowed. He opened the refrigerator and peered inside wondering where to start. He decided to play it safe and only ventured to eat anything that was prepackaged and unopened. He found a container of yogurt and a beer and began looking for a spoon.  
  
"Let's just keep this legal, shall we?" Duncan asked putting the beer back in the refrigerator and giving the boy a soda instead.  
  
"You said anything," he protested.  
  
"I changed my mind," Duncan retorted.  
  
"Fine, just give me my clothes and I'm outta here." The boy abandoned his food and began to walk away.  
  
"I meant, I changed my mind about anything being fair game; beer and anything else a boy your age can't have is off limits."  
  
"Oh," if Duncan didn't know better he'd swear the boy sounded almost grateful he wasn't being kicked out.  
  
"Sit down, let's talk," Duncan prompted setting the yogurt and soda on the table.  
  
"Why are you doing this?" the boy asked opening the container. "You don't even know my name."  
  
"Sure I do, it's... Ryan something."  
  
The boy grinned. "Close."  
  
"Not Ryan?"  
  
"It's something Ryan," the boy clarified seeming pleased with the little game he had created.  
  
"Then I'm at a loss," Duncan admitted.  
  
"It's okay," the boy assured him with a grin. "We're even 'cause I just know you're Mac something."  
  
"MacLeod, Duncan MacLeod." The boy nodded and began digging hungrily into the yogurt. "Now it's your turn to tell me."  
  
"Ryan's fine."  
  
"That's not fair, I told you," Duncan insisted wondering why at four hundred he felt so content playing childish games with a seventeen year old.  
  
"I didn't ask you to," the boy returned, his innocent grin being replaced with a more mischievous one. "You can't expect me to repay you for something I didn't ask for."  
  
Duncan nodded. "Point taken." He guessed that this was the boy's way of finding out what he had to do in return for shelter for the night. "So what are you doing on the streets by yourself?"  
  
"Avoiding the muggers," he shrugged.  
  
"Your parents just kicked you out?"  
  
"Not permanently, just until they're done being horny."  
  
Duncan smiled at the boy's bluntness; although the trait was providing entertainment now, Duncan was sure it's what got him into trouble. "So, Ryan, when can you go back home?"  
  
"Tomorrow morning after nine, before ten."  
  
"Okay," Duncan nodded. "I have a store to run so I have to get some sleep. I'll put some blankets out for you. The couch and TV are all yours."  
  
"Thanks," came the awkward reply.  
  
The next morning, Duncan found the TV on and the boy sound asleep on the couch curled in a ball under the blankets.  
  
"Hey, Ryan," Duncan whispered shaking his shoulder. "It's nine forty-five, you want a ride home?"  
  
"Nine fort-five?" Ryan repeated sitting up. "Crap, I'm gonna be late. Where are my clothes?" he demanded hurriedly untangling himself from the blankets.  
  
"Right here," Duncan handed him a pile of neatly folded freshly washed clothes.  
  
Ryan didn't waste anytime and changed right in the middle of the living room. "Thanks for everything," he said as he sat down to tie his shoes. "I'd stay and clean up, but if I'm late I'm dead."  
  
"That's why I offered you a ride. It'll be faster than walking."  
  
"Okay," Ryan nodded hastily.  
  
Seven minutes later, Duncan pulled to a stop in front of the apartment building Ryan had led him to. "This is it?" It looked decent.  
  
"Yeah," Ryan glanced at his watch. He knew it took exactly one minute and thirty seconds for him to get to his apartment from the street, that left him three minutes and fifteen seconds before he had to leave. "It's Richie, by the way."  
  
"What?" Duncan asked.  
  
"Richie, my name is Richie Ryan."  
  
"I knew it started with an 'R,'" Duncan smiled. "You don't want to go in there do you?" he asked noting the boy's bouncing knee and constant time checking. He guessed Richie had it all timed out to the last second.  
  
"Not really," he admitted.  
  
"Your dad real harsh on you?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Duncan thought for a minute. He couldn't think of a way to keep the boy with him.  
  
"I gotta go," Richie relented. "Thanks for everything. I'll pay you back when I can." Before Duncan could respond Richie was sprinting into the building.  
  
"You're late," Jonathan Cooper greeted Richie.  
  
"No, I'm not," Richie panted.  
  
"Are you contradicting me?"  
  
"No," Richie quickly answered.  
  
"Go in the kitchen and do the dishes," Jonathan ordered. "And I'd better not catch you doing anything you're not supposed to."  
  
Richie nodded and went to wash the dishes trying his best not to look at the brownies on the table. If he didn't see them, he wouldn't want them. When he was finished, he wiped down the counters and swept then went straight to his room.  
  
"Hey, Max," he greeted the dog who was locked in the kennel in the corner of his room. "Have you been in there all night?" he closed his door before opening the kennel. The medium sized dog bounded out of the kennel trying to decide if he should stretch or jump up on Richie first. "I bet you have to go out, don't you, boy? Let me see if we can go." Richie left his room and went into the main room of the apartment.  
  
"What are you doing out here?" Jonathan demanded.  
  
"Can I take the dog out?"  
  
"Stay where I can see you. And you better have everything done."  
  
Richie got the leash and hooked Max to it before going to the small park behind the building.  
  
"Hi, Mrs. Castillo," he greeted the old woman knitting on a bench.  
  
"Hello, Richie. How are you?"  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
"He kicked you out last night," she said pointedly. "Where did you go?"  
  
"This guy's house," he shrugged sitting on the bench and unhooking the leash.  
  
"What have I told you about accepting help from strangers?" she asked grandmotherly.  
  
"He's not a stranger."  
  
"What's his name?"  
  
"Mac... Mac..." Richie fumbled as he tried to remember his name. "It's Mac," he decided on.  
  
"Well, this Mac fellow better be a gentlemen."  
  
"He is," Richie assured her. "He's really nice."  
  
"Richie!" a voice boomed from a third floor window. "Get in here!"  
  
"What did you do?" Mrs. Castillo asked with a sigh. Jonathan was forever angry with the boy.  
  
"Nothing," Richie insisted. "Here, Max!" The dog came over and sat at his feet. "He told me to do the dishes and I did. And I swept and did the counters, too. I don't know what's wrong with him."  
  
"Richie!"  
  
"Better get up there," Mrs. Castillo prompted. "I could use someone to walk Nana, tonight," she hinted. "I'll pay you."  
  
"I'll try," Richie answered jogging back to the building.  
  
"What the hell is this?" Jonathan demanded holding up a T-shirt. Richie didn't answer. "It's the laundry. Why isn't it put away? I told you to do it last night."  
  
"I didn't get a chance, Amy came over," Richie insisted. Amy was Jonathan's girlfriend and for the life of him, Richie couldn't figure out what she saw in the guy.  
  
Jonathan slapped Richie across the face. "Don't back talk me."  
  
"I wasn't!"  
  
The man grabbed Richie by the back of his neck. "Do it now. And then we'll talk about punishments." Richie tried to move away but he just tightened his hold. "You understand me? As a matter of fact, we won't talk. Do the laundry then pick a belt." Max growled and bared his teeth. Jonathan glared down at the dog then kicked it grinning at the yelp that escaped the dog's throat.  
  
"Leave him alone!" Richie jerked out of his grip. "He doesn't know any better. Come 'ere, Max, come 'ere boy." Richie bent down and pet the dog lovingly trying to comfort it.  
  
"Get that mutt out of my site," Jonathan sneered.  
  
"Kennel, Max, kennel!" Richie ordered as nicely as he could. With his tail tucked between his legs, Max sulked to Richie's room.  
  
"Better get started. I need a good work out," Jonathan smiled. "Get me a beer first."  
  
Richie went to the kitchen to get Jonathan's beer and hurried back to the living room to hand it off. He took the laundry basket into his room and folded it all before putting it away as neatly as possible in the appropriate drawers. He double checked everything to make sure it would pass any inspection Jonathan might throw at him.  
  
He hovered behind the couch waiting to be noticed before he spoke. "I'm done."  
  
"Took you long enough." Jonathan grabbed him by the back of his neck and all but drug him into his bedroom. "Open the door," he ordered pushing Richie toward the closet door. All his belts hung on a hook over the back of the door.  
  
Richie stared at the weapons of torture trying to decide which would hurt the least. With a shaking hand, he reached out and took hold of a thin brown, cracked leather belt and handed it over to Jonathan.  
  
A wicked, satisfied smiled crossed the man's lips as he took it. "Turn around." Richie did as he was told, and faced the wall. "Take it off."  
  
Richie slowly took of his shirt and jeans, so he was standing in the room in nothing but his too small briefs. He heard Jonathan snap the belt in the air a few times and closed his eyes. It would be over soon enough. **


	2. Dinner and a Movie

AN: okay, we're trying something new here. I've been told the bold was hard to read in such large quantities so here's the new set up. ##Past 1992## will be at the start of the flashback scenes. ##Present 1994## will be at the start of present set scenes.  
  
##Past 1992##  
  
Richie woke up and stretched with a soft groan. He was sore all over.  
  
"Two an' a half months," he reminded himself struggling to sit up.  
  
He went into the bathroom to check the damage; it was mostly it was mostly his chest and back, nothing a long sleeved shirt wouldn't cover. He went back into his small room and searched for something to cover the offending bruises and settled on a used-to-fit-but-now-it-was-getting-baggy sweatshirt. His stomach growled and he quietly made his way into the kitchen. He chose an apple and got a knife to cut it with. He hadn't heard or seen Jonathan yet, maybe he wasn't home. That would be nice; maybe then he could sneak some Advil or something. Gathering up what little courage he could muster, Richie cleaned up any traces of the missing apple in his hand and went into Jonathan's medicine chest.  
  
"What do you think you are doing?" a voice snapped just as Richie's had closed around the bottle.  
  
Richie whirled around. "I was just, ah... um, I was... uh..."  
  
"Did I say you could do any of this?" Jonathan demanded snatching the apple pieces from Richie's hand.  
  
"I didn't think you were here to ask," Richie defended.  
  
"So you went ahead and did it?"  
  
"I just... I was going to..."  
  
"I don't care!" Jonathan screamed at him. "If I'm not here, what are you supposed to do?"  
  
"Stay in my room," Richie mumbled.  
  
"That's right. Now get the hell out of here. I don't want to see your face until ten tonight; you got that?"  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Richie wondered down the street trying to think of something to do. Something inside preferably; it looked like it was about to rain again. Richie shoved his hands in his pockets and continued to walk until abruptly he noticed he was back at the antique store. He peered through the window; nobody was there. Strangely, he felt disappointed. He wasn't sure why, but he was.  
  
"What are you doing?" someone demanded from behind him.  
  
"Chill, I know the owner," Richie snapped turning around. "Mac?" he grinned. "What are you trying to do, give me a heart attack?"  
  
"Will you settle for breakfast?" Duncan offered unlocking the door. "I was going to shower and go; would you like to join me?"  
  
"Were you workin' out?" Richie asked following Duncan up the stairs.  
  
"I run every morning. Is that a yes on breakfast?"  
  
Richie paused and began fishing through his pockets. After half a minute, he produced less than a dollar. "Uh, I guess not. Thanks for the offer though."  
  
Duncan frowned; his gut told him that Richie didn't get to eat much. "I'll tell you what. You dust for breakfast."  
  
Richie looked skeptical. "That's it?"  
  
"It's a big store," Duncan shrugged.  
  
"Okay," he consented. "Deal."  
  
"Okay, give me a couple minutes to get cleaned up."  
  
"Take your time," Richie shrugged slowly lowering himself onto the couch.  
  
"Are you okay?" Duncan asked.  
  
"Just a little sore."  
  
"You want some aspirin?"  
  
"Nah, I'm fine."  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Duncan wasn't convinced. "Okay, I'll be back in a minute." He pretended to go down the hall but paused and watched Richie gently push up his sleeve and examine the bruises spotting his arms. Duncan frowned and decided not to give the boy anything too strenuous to do.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"Get whatever you want," Duncan told Richie as the boy's eyes darted around the menu. "As long as you can eat it, you can get it."  
  
"That'd be a hell of a bill," Richie laughed.  
  
"I can see," Duncan looked the boy up and down. Even through the sweatshirt he could tell the boy was dangerously underfed. The waitress came by.  
  
"You know what you want?" she smiled.  
  
"Yes, spinach and mushroom omelet and bacon," Duncan answered.  
  
"To drink?"  
  
"Coffee."  
  
"You?" She turned to Richie.  
  
"Anything I want?" he asked Duncan.  
  
"Anything you want."  
  
"You're a witness," he told the waitress. "He said it."  
  
"What do you want, sweetie?"  
  
"Pancakes...with blueberries," he started.  
  
"How many?"  
  
Richie cast a glance at Duncan. "Five?" When Duncan didn't protest he continued. "Bacon, sausage, hashbrowns, two eggs... scrambled, and... an English muffin," he finished.  
  
The waitress raised her eyebrows at Duncan who gave her a slight nod. "To drink?"  
  
"Orange juice," Richie answered with a grin. He liked not being told what to order. "A big one."  
  
Duncan watched as Richie stuffed the last of his pancakes into his mouth even as he still chewed the food already packed in his cheeks. "You must have quite a metabolism," he commented.  
  
"A what?"  
  
"Metabolism."  
  
"Is that bad?" Richie asked finally swallowing and reaching for the ketchup and tobasco sauce.  
  
"It just means you don't have to exercise a lot to keep your weight down," he explained. He had almost said to stay fit, but he doubted the boy was in any way physically fit.  
  
"Well, I do walk around a lot," Richie commented drowning his hashbrowns in ketchup. "Does that count?" He squirted tobasco on them.  
  
"That's probably part of it... Has anyone ever told you that you eat like a trucker?" Richie grinned and shook his head. "You do."  
  
"Sorry." Richie's eyes scanned Duncan's plate. "How can you eat that?"  
  
"What?"  
  
Richie made a face. "Spinach."  
  
"It's good for you."  
  
"It's gross."  
  
"Have you ever had it?" Duncan asked with a grin.  
  
"No."  
  
"Then maybe you should try it before you form your opinion." He pushed his plate towards Richie.  
  
Slowly Richie reached over and cut a piece off the end and ate it. "That's not half bad," he commented in genuine surprise before he went back to the rest of his food. When he was finished, he eyed the last of Duncan's omelet.  
  
"Do you want the rest?" Duncan offered. "I'm not going to finish it."  
  
"You're sure?"  
  
"Yeah, it's all yours."  
  
"Thanks," he chirped happily accepting the plate.  
  
Once Richie finished, they went back to the store and Duncan put him to work dusting and sweeping. Richie seemed surprised when he invited him up for lunch. After lunch, Richie "helped" Duncan with some paperwork. He was more of a hindrance than anything, but judging by the boy's stiff movements and the bruises he saw before, Duncan wasn't about to send him home before he had to. So around seven when Richie started to wonder where he was going to go until ten o'clock, Duncan rushed for a way to keep him there.  
  
"When's your curfew?" he asked nonchalantly.  
  
"Ten," Richie shrugged.  
  
"How about you go get a movie," Duncan suggested handing Richie ten dollars. "And I'll order a pizza for dinner?"  
  
Richie grinned. "Yeah?"  
  
"Yeah. Pick whatever you want. You should have enough for popcorn, too, if you want."  
  
"Cool," Richie grinned again and headed for the door.  
  
"What do you like on your pizza?" Duncan called after him.  
  
"Anything!"  
  
"Anchovies?" Duncan offered with a grin.  
  
"Sure!" came the serious reply.  
  
Duncan ordered a large black olive, mushroom, onion and tomato pizza and decided to make Richie eat a salad before he could have any. Richie returned fifteen minutes later with "The Terminator," popcorn and Junior Mints.  
  
"Here," he tried to hand Duncan his change.  
  
"Keep it, it's a tip."  
  
He made a confused face but made no argument as he pocketed the $3.56. "Thanks."  
  
They started the movie when the pizza came and to Duncan's surprise, Richie plowed through two salads before he even looked at the pizza. His body must have been craving some real nutrition. By the time the end credits started, there was just enough time to drive Richie home by curfew. Duncan pulled to a stop in font of the apartment building.  
  
"If you're not doing anything tomorrow, I could use your help at the store."  
  
"Maybe," Richie shrugged.  
  
"I'll make it worth your while. How does twenty bucks plus meals and a movie sound?"  
  
The boy grinned. "What time?"  
  
"10:30."  
  
"I'll be there." Richie got out of the car and ran into the building.  
  
Luckily, Jonathan wasn't home so he slipped in, took the dog out, cleaned up the mess Max had made and was sitting quietly in his room when Jonathan got back.  
  
There was a knock at Richie's bedroom door.  
  
"Come in, Amy." Amy was the only person who ever knocked. Jonathan just barged in.  
  
"Are you alright?" she asked. "You didn't come home last night."  
  
"I went to this guy's place. I'm fine."  
  
"Okay. As long as nothing happened to you."  
  
"Is Jonathan here?" Richie asked.  
  
"He will be in a few minutes, he's parking the car."  
  
Richie sighed. "Great."  
  
Amy gave him a reassuring smile and put her hand on his cheek. "Just keep quiet. He'll leave you alone tonight. It's our anniversary."  
  
"Why do you go out with him, Amy? You deserve a lot better."  
  
"When you're in love, you'll understand."  
  
##Present 1994##  
  
The next morning, Richie stumbled down the stairs in the loft just in time to make some toast to eat on his way down to the dojo. Duncan was already down stairs working out.  
  
"You feeling better?" he asked.  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
"So that's a no."  
  
"Mac, leave me alone." Richie shut himself in the office.  
  
"What's wrong with the kid?" Charlie asked, coming up behind Duncan.  
  
"He didn't sleep well."  
  
Two hours later, Richie was still in the office having refused to speak to anyone. Finally, Duncan went in.  
  
"I don't wanna talk," Richie said not looking up from the computer.  
  
"I wasn't going to ask. I was just wondering how you were doing on the accounts."  
  
He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I have no idea."  
  
"Want me to look it over?" Duncan asked.  
  
"I doubt it makes any sense. Mac, I can't think straight. I've gone over the same deposits eight times. I came up with eight different totals."  
  
"You seem a little tired."  
  
"I don't think I slept at all."  
  
"Why don't we take the day off? We can just go somewhere and relax," Duncan suggested. "How does that sound?"  
  
"I'm not feeling very social right now, Mac."  
  
"Then you take a day off. Just go upstairs and sleep, or go out, just get your mind off this."  
  
"Okay," Richie consented. "Thanks."  
  
"Just go take some time to get yourself together. If you're up for it, we can go get some dinner tonight."  
  
"Maybe."  
  
Duncan took Richie's seat at the computer and tried to make sense out of what he had been doing.  
  
"Hey, Rich, how about that rematch?" Charlie offered as Richie passed him on the way to the elevator.  
  
"No, thanks, man, I'm not really in the mood."  
  
"You seem like you need it, though."  
  
"I'm fine, Charlie."  
  
"You sure don't look it."  
  
"Look, it's personal." Richie glanced at Duncan sitting in the office. "It's nothing that won't be handled."  
  
"You and MacLeod having problems?"  
  
"It's nothing, Charlie. See you around."  
  
"Sure... see ya." Charlie went into the office. "What's going on?"  
  
"I already told you, Charlie, he's just tired. I gave him the day off."  
  
"He just seems flustered."  
  
"He's fine. Just leave him alone."  
  
"It just seems like he's hiding something."  
  
"It's none of your business."  
  
Richie called around six to say that he was out of town and wouldn't be able to meet for dinner. He came home just before nine that night.  
  
"Did you get your head cleared?" Duncan asked him.  
  
"Not really. Everywhere I went reminded me of it."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yeah. I went back to the apartments..."  
  
"Why did you go there, Richie?" Duncan asked pouring them both a glass of wine.  
  
"That's just where I ended up."  
  
"No wonder it didn't work."  
  
"It's not like I stayed there all day." He took the offered drink.  
  
"Where else did you go?"  
  
"The park. Then I just got on the highway and went east until it got dark, then I turned around." Duncan nodded silently, knowing more was about to come out. "I'm just so mad. They said five years, Mac."  
  
"Parole after three," Duncan reminded him.  
  
"It's barely been two."  
  
"Sit down." He gestured to the couch. "Things don't always happen as they should, Rich. And there's nothing we can do about it."  
  
"I know, I know, it's just... I don't know."  
  
"You don't feel like its fair?" Duncan supplied.  
  
"After everything he did to me? No. No, it's not fair."  
  
"And part of you is angry and part of you is scared."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"And you don't know how you're supposed to feel."  
  
"No."  
  
"I'm sorry, Rich. But you just have to figure this all out on your own. There's nothing anyone can do to help you."  
  
Richie paused to think about it. "I guess not."  
  
"Richie... if I could I would," Duncan told him.  
  
"Do what?"  
  
"Make it all go away, as if it never happened. Tell you how to handle this. Help you."  
  
"Thanks, Mac."  
  
He reached over to squeeze the younger immortal's shoulder. "I am here, though. If there is anything I can do."  
  
"I know. I think I'm just going to turn in, though. I'm not in the mood to be around anybody."  
  
"Alright. Good night, Rich."  
  
"Night, Mac." 


	3. Flaming Chicken

**##Present 1994##**  
  
"Mac?" Richie asked as he heard someone come up the stairs.  
  
"I thought you were asleep," Duncan said, coming in.  
  
"Then why did you come up?"  
  
"I heard the TV on; I came up to turn it off."  
  
"Oh."  
  
Duncan sat down on the edge of Richie's bed. "Still can't sleep?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Are you sure you don't want to talk?"  
  
"What's there to talk about? Once again the legal system failed."  
  
"Rich..."  
  
"Seriously, Mac. That's all there is to it. The guy was a bastard and he got let off."  
  
**##Past 1992##  
**  
"Get up!"  
  
Richie jerked awake so fast he hit his head on the bottom of the top bunk in his room.  
  
"Come on, you little punk, get your ass out of bed!"  
  
"What's going on?" Richie asked scrambling out from under the covers.  
  
"You're social worker is going to be here in an hour. You have to get this place cleaned up."  
  
Richie made his bed as quickly and neatly as possible before going out into the living room to throw away the beer bottles and any evidence of anything illegal that may have taken place the night before.  
  
"Don't forget to take out the trash when you take out your dog," Jonathan reminded him as Richie emptied the dishwasher.  
  
"Yeah, yeah."  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"Put on your nice clothes before you go out."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
Richie went back into his room and opened the drawer that held the clothes he wasn't allowed to wear unless Jonathan told him he could, which meant only when Richie's social worker came over. He took out the least wrinkled shirt he could find and put it on.  
  
He went over and checked Max's food and water before leaving his room to take the dog and the trash out. He ran into Connie Mankin, his social worker, on his way back up to the apartment.  
  
"Richie, I trust you've been staying out of trouble," she droned as they walked down the hall.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And how are you getting along with Mr. Cooper?"  
  
Richie rolled his eyes. 'Like you care,' he thought. "Same as always."  
  
"You haven't been bothering him, have you?"  
  
"Of course not. He hardly even notices I'm here."  
  
"You have a smug attitude, Richie."  
  
"He's not that bad," Jonathan said opening the apartment door. "He may deserve a light smack every now and then, but he's a decent kid." He smiled down at Richie.  
  
"I heard he got arrested last week," Connie said. "Breaking and entering, I believe."  
  
"He was lucky; the store owner let him off. The cops brought him home safe and sound." He put a strong arm around Richie's shoulders. "We had a little talk after that, didn't we, kiddo?"  
  
"Yes, sir. Couldn't sit for days."  
  
"No less than you deserved, I'm sure." Connie sighed and glanced around the living room. "Just let me look around and I'll be out of here."  
  
She made a less than through inspection of the apartment before saying good bye and seeing herself out.  
  
Jonathan kept his arm around Richie's narrow shoulders the entire time.  
  
"That was a good visit," he said, tightening his grip. "And next time, I suggest you keep your mouth shut."  
  
"I didn't say anything!"  
  
"Couldn't sit for days? Just what were you trying to imply there?"  
  
"It was just a joke."  
  
"I suggest you change you sense of humor. Go put your clothes away, then get out of here."  
  
"I got somewhere to go, anyway," Richie mumbled walking to his room.  
  
"Where do you have to go?" Jonathan demanded following him.  
  
"A friend's house."  
  
"You have a friend?"  
  
"Yeah." Richie tossed his shirt into the drawer.  
  
"Fold that the right way."  
  
Richie folded his shirt and his good jeans before pulling the jeans he wore everyday out from under his bed.  
  
"I thought I told you to clean up!" Jonathan grabbed the jeans out of his hands. The change along with the twenty dollars Duncan had given him the night before fell out of the pocket. "What is that?"  
  
"Money."  
  
"Pick that up and give it to me." Richie bent down and picked up the bills and change. Jonathan hit him in the back of the head as he stood back up then took the money. "Where did you get this?"  
  
"I earned it."  
  
"Doing what?"  
  
"Workin'."  
  
Jonathan grabbed him around the neck. "Doing what?"  
  
"Helping a friend."  
  
"Stealing, you mean."  
  
"No! I didn't steal anything!"  
  
"You little whore," Jonathan sneered. "Do you have any idea who could have seen you?"  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"You really could have put our special little deal in jeopardy." He grabbed Richie by the back of the neck. "I don't care what you do, just so long as I can't get blamed for it. You go ripping people off, it ain't my fault. You go screwing perfect strangers for money; it's my ass on the line."  
  
"I wasn't doing that!"  
  
"Sure you weren't. It's all you'll ever amount to. You sit your horny little butt down. You ain't going anywhere today."  
  
"I told my friend I'd be there. He owns a store!"  
  
"They're called stables." He shoved him down on the floor in front of his desk. "And if you don't stay right there until I say otherwise, you'll regret it."  
  
Richie sat on the floor and stared across the room at the hockey poster on the wall. Jonathan had bought it and put it up when he slammed Richie into the wall so hard he dented it. Max came over and put his head in Richie's lap with a soft whine.  
  
"I know, boy." He scratched to dog behind the ears. "Just a bit longer. When I get out of here, I'm taking you with me. We'll figure something out."  
  
"Shut up in there!" Jonathan yelled.  
  
Richie sighed and leaned back against the drawers. Max stood up and licked Richie's chin before crawling completely into his lap and lying down.  
  
"Ya dumb mutt," Richie grumbled fondly.  
  
Jonathan didn't come into his room again until six o'clock when he told Richie to go to bed. Jonathan was staggering and speaking louder than usual, so without a word, Richie did as he was told. Around nine, Richie peeked into the living room and found his foster father dead asleep on the couch. He snuck out into the park behind the building to let Max do his thing before sneaking back in and trying to get some sleep.  
  
##Present 1994##  
  
Apparently, having fallen asleep at one point during the night, Richie woke up the next morning. Determined to put his crappy mood behind him he got up and went to go take a shower.  
  
"You're up earlier than I expected," Duncan said looking up from the couch as Richie padded down the stairs. "Did you get any sleep?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm great," Richie told him with enthusiasm.  
  
"Somebody's in a better mood."  
  
"I am determined not to let this get me down, Mac."  
  
"And what brought this on?"  
  
Richie shrugged. "Its like you and Tessa said. It happened, but it's over. So I don't have to worry about it anymore."  
  
"So you're just going to pretend it never happened?"  
  
"Pretty much."  
  
"That should be interesting."  
  
"It's what we've always done, Mac. And it's always worked."  
  
Duncan got up and went into the kitchen. "Maybe that's why this is so hard on you now."  
  
Richie followed. "Mac, the whole situation sucks, but what are you gonna do about it?"  
  
"Talk."  
  
"I already have talked about it, Mac. In a room full of strangers."  
  
"Richie..."  
  
"Thanks for ruining my good mood, Mac. I'm gonna take a shower." He went into the bathroom and turned on the water to as hot as his skin could stand. He was stiff and a little sore. It had been a lot easier when his had consisted of repressed memories. Now he couldn't make his mind stay in the present.  
  
##Past 1992##  
  
Richie walked stiffly to the store and knocked on the back door. Duncan opened it almost instantly.  
  
"I was hoping you'd come by toady. What happened yesterday?"  
  
"Um..."  
  
"What happened to your neck?" Duncan asked spotting the bruises that Richie had tried to hide by putting up the collar of this jacket.  
  
"That's why I wasn't here... I fell."  
  
"Fell?"  
  
"Yeah, see...I was taking my dog out and my foot got tangled in the leash and I fell down some stairs."  
  
"Are you okay?"  
  
"Just a little banged up."  
  
Duncan squatted a bit so they were eye to eye. "Richie, the other day you told me your dad was a little harsh with you. Did he have anything to do with this?"  
  
"No!" the teen quickly insisted. "I just fell. That's all."  
  
"Okay, I believe you."  
  
"I'm not lying, honest."  
  
Duncan smiled. "You don't have to swear to me, Richie. If you tell me something, I'll believe you, simple as that."  
  
"Oh." Richie didn't look as if he were quite sure what to make of such open trust.  
  
"Well, I wasn't really up for working today," Duncan started.  
  
"Oh...I'll just go, then."  
  
"I was hoping you'd just keep me company."  
  
Richie perked up a bit. "Really?"  
  
"Yeah. We can grill some burgers on the roof for lunch."  
  
"The roof?"  
  
"You never grilled on the roof before?" Duncan asked.  
  
"No."  
  
"Well, why don't you come up and have a little breakfast and then we'll go shopping for lunch."  
  
After a big bowl of oatmeal with sliced bananas, Duncan sat down to teach Richie how to play chess.  
  
"I don't get it," Richie said for the fifth time.  
  
Duncan smiled patiently and explained the rules again. Richie shook his head with a rueful smile.  
  
"Do you know how to play checkers?"  
  
"No," Duncan lied. "I've always wanted to learn though."  
  
Eleven thirty rolled around and they got in the car and headed to the grocery store.  
  
"Do you like burgers or hot dogs?" Duncan asked as he walked next to Richie who was pushing the currently empty cart.  
  
"Cheeseburgers."  
  
"Cheeseburgers it is."  
  
They bought ground beef, cheese slices, hamburger buns, pickles, tomatoes, potato chips, carrots and broccoli. To keep Richie from straining any hurt muscles, Duncan sent him to get plates and napkins ready to take to the roof while he brought in the groceries.  
  
They set up a card table on the roof. Richie set to work cutting tomatoes and onions while Duncan started the fire in the gas grill.  
  
"How do you like your burgers done?" he asked.  
  
"Well done."  
  
"Me too."  
  
Richie wondered over to the grill and hung over Duncan's shoulder watching him grill.  
  
"How do you know when they're done?"  
  
"See that thermometer on the table?"  
  
Richie went over to get the digital meat thermometer. "Now what?"  
  
"Stick it in the middle of one." Richie did so. "Hold it until it beeps." It beeped. "What does it say?"  
  
"Medium rare."  
  
"Still have to cook then."  
  
Richie hovered by the grill for a minute. "Anything else I can do?"  
  
Duncan looked around. "You know what we forgot? Drinks. Why don't you go down and make some lemonade. There's lemon juice in the fridge and sugar's in on the counter in the ceramic container."  
  
"Okay. I can do that."  
  
"Perfect. Oh, and there's a tray in the cabinet at the end of the island. You can carry up a couple glasses and the pitcher on that."  
  
Richie smiled. "Okay." He started down the stairs but stopped. "I think your phone is ringing."  
  
"Okay, you take care of this, I'll do the drinks." Duncan handed off the spatula as he passed.  
  
"What do I do?"  
  
"Just wait until the thermometer says medium then flip them over until they're done!" he called as he trotted down the stairs. "MacLeod," he grabbed the cordless, out of breath.  
  
"Duncan?"  
  
"Tessa! How are you?"  
  
"You sound out of breath."  
  
"I was on the roof making lunch for us."  
  
"Us?" Tessa asked.  
  
"Oh, I haven't had a chance to tell you about Richie yet."  
  
"Richie? Should I be jealous?"  
  
Duncan smiled into the phone. "I don't know...I do have a thing for blondes. But seventeen year old boys aren't really my style."  
  
"Who is he, Duncan?"  
  
"He is just a boy who's been helping me around the store. Doing the cleaning up and what not."  
  
"Where did you find him?"  
  
"Well, I ran into him one night I couldn't sleep. He's the boy who broke in last week."  
  
"What? Duncan you let him back into our home?"  
  
"Tess, his parents had locked him out for the night. I couldn't leave him on the streets."  
  
"Mac! The thing says medium!" Richie yelled down the stairs.  
  
Duncan covered the microphone of the phone. "Flip them over with the spatula!" he yelled back. "What was I supposed to do, Tess?"  
  
Tessa sighed. "Have you at least been keeping a close eye on him?"  
  
"He's clean. He seems really happy to have a job."  
  
"Fine," she sighed. "I'm coming home on Saturday. I sold the statue; he's just deciding if he wants another."  
  
"MAC! THEY'RE ON FIRE!"  
  
"That really is great, Tess, but we're having a slight emergency right now. I'll call you back." He tossed the phone down and took the stairs to the roof three at a time.  
  
Richie was standing on the roof panicking in front of the grill.  
  
"Move!" Duncan barked, shoving the teen aside. He slammed the lid down and turned off the gas. "Are you okay?" he asked turning back around.  
  
"I-I-I...I don't know what happened. I'm sorry!"  
  
"It's okay, Rich. It's not your fault. Whatever happened was an accident. The important thing is you're not hurt."  
  
"But all that meat. The grill...it had to be expensive."  
  
Duncan smiled and put a hand on Richie's shoulder. "That's not a problem. Whatever it costs it's a lot less than if you had been hurt."  
  
Richie looked at him oddly. "You're not mad?"  
  
"No, Rich. I can't be mad at you for an accident."  
  
"Oh..."  
  
"Now, why don't we check on those burgers?"  
  
He turned around and carefully opened the grill lid. The fire was out. He took the meat off the grill and put it on a plate. "Check and see if they're done."  
  
"Does this thing have a burnt reading?" Richie asked picking up the thermometer.  
  
"Just see."  
  
Richie looked up from the read out with a smile. "It says well done."  
  
Duncan smiled back. "Give one a taste."  
  
Richie grabbed a fork off the table and cut into one. "Not bad."  
  
"Good. Then let's eat." Duncan started over to the table, Richie trailing behind. "Oh, we still don't have drinks."  
  
"I'll do it," Richie offered starting to get up.  
  
"No, no. You start eating; I'll be back in two minutes."  
  
When Duncan got back, Richie had put together his cheeseburger, served himself some chips and fresh veggies, but hadn't eaten anything.  
  
"Eat, Rich, you don't want your food to get cold, do you?"  
  
"I was waiting for you."  
  
Duncan smiled at him and put a glass of lemonade in front of him. "Well, I' m here now, so eat."  
  
Richie started in on his chips. "I am sorry about the grill. If there's any damage, I'll pay you back."  
  
"You can't have done any more damage than I did."  
  
Richie cocked his head to one side. "What?"  
  
"Two years ago I was making chicken for Tessa and some of our friends up here. We were having a party. Well, whatever happened to you must have happened to me, because I turn for one second and the whole thing goes up in flames."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"I closed the lid and turned off the gas. After a few minutes, I opened it back up, but the fire had melted the hinges. It flops over and the chicken that was on the tiered shelves went flying over the side of the building and into the alley."  
  
Riche burst out laughing. "You're lyin'!"  
  
"Ask the alley cats, they still get excited when they smell me grilling."  
  
Richie was laughing so hard he could barely breathe. Duncan smiled. So he had stretched the truth a little bit. The chicken had merely fallen onto the roof. But he got Richie laughing and it had been the first time the kid had seemed really comfortable and happy. Now all he had to do was get the boy comfortable with him to tell him where he really was the day before. 


	4. The Letter

**##Present 1994##  
**  
It had been two days and Richie was still in an odd, sensitive, brooding mood. Duncan had just given him indefinite time off; Richie could go back to work when he was ready to concentrate. Charlie had no problem stepping in and taking over Richie's jobs. After all, they had been Charlie's jobs before Duncan had bought the dojo. Richie was really Charlie's assistant more than anything.  
  
And while Charlie was helping with the work load, he was starting to get a little too curious about what was wrong with Richie.  
  
"Are you sure he's not sick?" Charlie asked as he and Duncan moved the equipment off the floor to make room for a class that was about to start.  
  
"Yes," Duncan sighed. "He's just having some...look, it's a long story. Just leave him alone."  
  
"You're the boss."  
  
"I guess you've got enough room for everybody now," he said as they moved the last bench in place. "I'm going to go check on Richie."  
  
"Just take it easy on him," Charlie mumbled as Duncan walked away.  
  
Richie was in the loft sitting at the bar picking at a peanut butter and banana sandwich. He looked up when Duncan opened the lift gate.  
  
"Hey."  
  
"Hey, Rich. I see you're brooding again."  
  
"Mac, hasn't it been long enough for the general public to not be interested in all this?"  
  
Duncan went to the refrigerator and got out two beers. "It was on the news again?"  
  
Richie nodded as he took the bottle. "Actually, they played that great clip of me being smuggled by a bunch of social workers out of the court room."  
  
"You?"  
  
Richie shrugged. "You couldn't tell it was me. I keep trying to remind myself that no one knows and I don't have anything to worry about and he can't hurt me anymore and all that, but I just can't get out of this funk."  
  
"Maybe it's because you're mopping around and being depressed."  
  
Richie rolled his eyes. "You don't say."  
  
Duncan smiled. "Do you remember the night you first met Tessa?"  
  
Richie rolled his eyes "I've been trying to forget."  
  
**##Past 1992##  
**  
"I'm so glad to be home," Tessa sighed contentedly as she cuddled into Duncan's arms.  
  
"I'm glad to have you back," Duncan smiled seductively at her. "I was getting lonely."  
  
"I missed you, too." She ran her fingers through his hair and gently brought his lips to hers. They had been apart for too long and kissing just reminded them how long they had been apart. Once they had been satisfied for the moment, they broke apart.  
  
"Why don't I take you out for a romantic dinner?" Duncan offered. "Then we can come home for desert."  
  
"Just what did you have in mind?"  
  
"Wine, caviar, candles, low lights, soft music..."  
  
"And for desert?"  
  
He smiled slyly at her. "Me."  
  
"Can't we just skip right to desert?"  
  
"It is tempting..."  
  
The door bell rang. They froze. Duncan started to get up.  
  
"No, Duncan, don't answer it."  
  
There was a tentative knock.  
  
"That's probably Richie," he said apologetically. "He may be in trouble."  
  
Another soft knock.  
  
"He sounds like he's in real danger," Tessa groaned as Duncan went to the back door.  
  
"Richie!" he greeted a little louder than he needed to. "What are you doing here?"  
  
Richie smiled and held up the red leash in his left hand. "I'm taking Max for a walk. And with you always out running, I thought maybe...oh...oops. Sorry. I didn't know."  
  
Duncan followed Richie's gaze and found Tessa standing a few feet behind him. "Richie, this is Tessa. She's been out of town for a while."  
  
"Hi," the teen greeted shyly. "I didn't know you were coming back tonight. I'll just walk Max myself. Uh...welcome home." He smiled hopefully at Duncan. "Do you still need help in the store?"  
  
Duncan crouched down and scratched the mutt by Richie's feet behind the ears. "You come by tomorrow at the usual time."  
  
Richie smiled broadly. "Cool," he said just as his stomach growled.  
  
"You know what," Duncan started glancing at Tessa. "We were about to go get some dinner. Why don't come with us."  
  
"Uh...you know...that sounds great. But, I got Max and everything."  
  
"We can go to that nice French café downtown, we can eat on the patio and Max would be welcome. I see people with their dogs there all the time. Wouldn't that be fun, Tessa?" he asked suggestively.  
  
Tessa put on the most sincere fake smile she could muster. "Of course."  
  
"Hey, that's a funny accent," Richie piped up. "You from France or something?"  
  
Duncan smiled encouragingly at Richie, then pleadingly at Tessa. "Tessa's from Paris. In fact, that's where she's been. She was selling her art."  
  
Richie wrinkled his nose. "I'm not an art person. Museums are not my kinda place."  
  
"Well," Duncan stepped in quickly, making a mental note to help Richie with his people skills. "A lot of people your age don't think they like things like that. But I'm sure with the proper guide you could really enjoy and appreciate art and museums."  
  
The teen shrugged. "Who knows?"  
  
"Maybe Tessa and I could take you to one sometime. I bet you'd change your mind." Richie just smiled and shrugged. "Are we ready?" Duncan asked offering his arm to Tessa as Richie's stomach growled again. "I think we better feed him before he drops dead on us."  
  
Richie smiled. "Are you sure it's okay?"  
  
"Oh, yeah, of course it is. We were going to eat anyway, and you and Tessa need to get to know each other. It's perfect."  
  
Richie looked over at Tessa with what he found to be his most charming smile. "You sure you don't mind? I was just gonna get a hotdog in the park anyway."  
  
Duncan looked at Tessa with an almost pleading expression. "Of course you're welcome," Tessa said. "Though, they don't have hotdogs at the café."  
  
"I'm sure we can find something he'd like." Duncan put his free arm around Richie's shoulder. "Thank you," he whispered in her ear as he led the pair and dog to the car.  
  
"Oh, uh..." Richie hesitated then took off his jacket and laid it on the seat. "Up there, Max." He made sure the dog wasn't touching the upholstery and got in the back seat next to him. "He's not in your way is he?" he asked as Duncan adjusted the rear view mirror.  
  
"Nope, you're both fine."  
  
The ride to the café was uncomfortably silent in the front seat. Tessa was not happy about having 'that little thief" as she referred to Richie, along with them on what was supposed to be a romantic dinner. Duncan couldn't help but put Richie's trust a little higher on his priority list than Tessa for the moment. He was still worried about the teen's home life. If Richie saw Duncan as a friend, Duncan had to encourage it. It was important that Richie felt comfortable coming to him, in case he needed help. Richie, for his part was completely oblivious to the tension in the front seat and was busy keeping his dog on his coat protecting the T-bird at all costs.  
  
"No! Max, sit!" Richie ordered pulling on the dog's collar at a stop light. "Max! No! Bad dog!" Max barked and tried to jump out of the car and chase after a pair of squirrels chasing each other around the park. "Maa-aax!" he wined. "Be quiet and sit!"  
  
"He'll calm down in a minute," Duncan said. "Once he can't see the squirrels, he'll be okay."  
  
Sure enough once they were around the corner, Max was once again merely interested in sniffing the air as they drove to the café.  
  
They got there and were seated on the patio. Duncan had forgotten that the menu was in French. Or maybe he had simply never noticed before. But it was rater amusing to watch Richie as he insisted on figuring out the selections on his own.  
  
"Fruit dee mere...that's like apples and bananas and stuff, right?" he asked.  
  
Duncan smiled. "Not quite, fruites de mer. It's more shrimp and stuff."  
  
Richie wrinkled his nose and shook his head. "Who can eat that stuff?"  
  
"Some of us like it."  
  
Richie went back to exploring the menu and Duncan took hold of Tessa's hand across the table. She looked up at him from her menu and he smiled at her. She smiled back, though it was obvious she didn't find Richie's company as appealing as Duncan did.  
  
"Oh, here we go. Steak. I know that one."  
  
Duncan suppressed a smile. "Steak taretare?" Richie smiled, pleased with himself for having figured out the confusing menu. "You don't want that."  
  
"Oh... I get it. Right," Richie nodded quietly and focused his attention on the dog lying happily at his feet.  
  
"Richie, you want a steak?" Duncan asked.  
  
"No, it's cool. I understand."  
  
"Why don't you let me order for you? I'll make sure it's something you'll like."  
  
"Monsuier MacLeod, Madame Noel, so good to see you!" a squat Frenchman greeted happily coming out with three glasses of water and a baguette. "And who is this young man?" he asked putting Richie's water in front of him.  
  
"This is Richie. He helps us at the store," Duncan answered.  
  
"And this petit chein?"  
  
"That's Richie's dog, Max."  
  
"Bonjour and bienvenue to you both."  
  
Richie smiled politely. "Thanks..."  
  
"Are you ready to order?"  
  
Richie glanced at Duncan, who winked at him. "Richie would like a steak. Give him a nice cut, and he likes it cooked all the way through," Duncan started.  
  
"A true American," the waiter smiled, a bit condescendingly, at Richie.  
  
"Tessa would like the Marmite. And I would like the Steak Tartare and Escargot to start."  
  
"Very good, monsuier."  
  
"And bring Richie some Onion soup to start."  
  
"Isn't escargot snails?" Richie asked when the waiter left.  
  
Duncan smiled at him. "Yes."  
  
"Ew!"  
  
"Keep your voice down," he warned him when the people a few tables away looked at them. "You're not eating them, so it doesn't matter what you think. And you said the same thing about spinach."  
  
Richie made a face and reached into his glass to fish out a couple ice cubes. Tessa watched in disapproval as he held the ice for his dog to lick up. She looked unhappily at Duncan as Richie wiped his hands off on his jeans, then reached for the baguette and tore off a hunk.  
  
"Uh, Richie, why don't you go wash your hands for dinner," Duncan said quickly before Richie could eat his bread.  
  
"Sure." He got up and went to find the restroom.  
  
"Duncan, that is disgusting," Tessa hissed as soon as the teen was out of hearing range.  
  
"He's a teenage boy," Duncan defended him as he tore off the part of the baguette Richie had touched and putting it on the ground for the dog to eat. "They aren't the most sanitary members of the species."  
  
"He's a thief and a liar, and I do not want him working at the store any longer."  
  
"Tessa, I really don't want to get into this here. But I'd really appreciate it if you would just give him a chance. He's a nice boy, good company and a really hard worker."  
  
"I don't like him."  
  
"It's just the circumstance. Give him a chance."  
  
"Duncan, you cannot tell me how I feel. I do not like this boy."  
  
Duncan saw Richie returning to the table. "Please, Tessa. Don't scare him away."  
  
Richie plopped back in his seat with a wide grin. "Mac, you gotta go check it out, there's real towels in there! And all sorts of colognes..."  
  
"You didn't take any, did you?" Duncan asked.  
  
"No... want me to go get you one?"  
  
"No... just making sure. They're not meant to be taken."  
  
"Onion soup," the waiter announced putting the bowl in front of Richie. "And Escargot," he set the plate between Duncan and Tessa.  
  
Richie frowned and stared down at the bowl. "That's soup?"  
  
"Yes," Tessa told him in a less than patent tone.  
  
"What's this part?" He poked at the white layer on the top.  
  
"Cheese," Duncan told him, taking Richie's spoon and pushing through the melted cheese. "See, there's the soup."  
  
"Oh." With a smile Richie took his napkin and tucked it into his collar before taking the spoon. Tessa snorted. Richie looked up a bit confused.  
  
"This goes in your lap," Duncan said pulling the napkin out of Richie's collar and putting it in the teen lap.  
  
Richie smiled. "Oops."  
  
Duncan ruffled his hair. "Don't worry about it."  
  
Richie took a small taste of the soup, then deciding it was good starting shoveling it into his mouth. Catching sight of Tessa taking the meat of the escargot out of the shell, he paused with his spoon halfway to his mouth, which was hanging open.  
  
"What?" she snapped.  
  
"You're not really gonna eat that are you?" he asked in juvenile curiosity.  
  
"Of course."  
  
He made a face and went back to his soup mumbling something about dog food.  
  
"Richie," Duncan whispered. "I don't know exactly what you said, but I'm sure it was inappropriate. Escargot is a real delicacy in France. And I don't think it would hurt for you to try it."  
  
"No way," Richie protested in a shocked whisper. "I'm not gonna eat that."  
  
"I'll make you a deal. I won't force you to try it, if you keep your comments to yourself."  
  
"Shut up, gotcha." He went back to his soup. "This is good," he said after a second. "Kinda a unique flavor, but I like it."  
  
Duncan smiled. "Good. I thought you would."  
  
"What's that?" Richie asked suddenly pointing at the Escargot.  
  
"What?"  
  
"That stuff on the plate."  
  
"It's just garlic butter. See, the escargot itself doesn't have any real flavor to it. All you taste is the garlic."  
  
"Oh."  
  
A few minutes later, the waiter came back with their main entrees.  
  
"Mac," Richie whispered leaning to the immortal. "Aren't you gonna send that back?"  
  
"Why?" Duncan asked, looking down at his plate. He realized Richie's objection too late to stop him from saying it.  
  
"I think they forgot to cook it."  
  
Tessa snorted into her marmite. Duncan passed her an amused smile before answering. "That's why I didn't think you would like it. It's supposed to be served raw."  
  
Richie gave him a confused look, then smiled wryly. "Comments to myself."  
  
Duncan smiled at Tessa. "See he's learning already."  
  
They ate in semi-comfortable silence. Richie's only offence was speaking before swallowing his food. But, Tessa had gone to the restroom so she didn't get to add it to her mental list of offences. He was on his best behavior for the rest of the meal. Duncan was actually impressed with Richie's behavior. He didn't make any more comments, he didn't eat with his fingers, he didn't touch the dog then his food... there were so many small things that could have done wrong that didn't. Unfortunately, something big did go wrong.  
  
It started innocently enough. Richie just wanted to be polite and shake Tessa's hand and thank her for letting him tag along on their dinner. But, he hadn't taken into account that his elbow was very close to his glass, which was very close to the edge of the table.  
  
He knocked his glass off the table and it smashed on the concrete a few inches away from Max, who was startled out of a lazy snooze. He yelped and sprang to his feet, trying to run away. Richie had hooked the loose end of the leash around a leg of the table, so he wouldn't have to worry about keeping a grip on the dog while he ate. The dog ran, taking his leash and then the table, with him. The table fell over, spilling water and leftovers all over Tessa and Duncan, and knocking Richie backwards over his chair.  
  
"Max!" Richie yelled scrambling to his feet and running after the dog who had broken free of his leash.  
  
"Tessa, are you okay?" Duncan asked helping her brush food off her skirt and blouse.  
  
"Duncan..."  
  
"It wasn't his fault," Duncan defended.  
  
"What is that?" she asked pointing at something on the ground. She went over and picked up the napkin filled with bits of bread and steak. "I think this was in his pocket."  
  
"Tess..."  
  
"He was going to steal this!" she snapped at him swatting away employees trying to help her clean up.  
  
"Technically it's not stealing, we paid the bill," Duncan told her.  
  
"I will not have that thief back in my home!"  
  
"I'm sorry," a shaky voice said from behind her. She turned around and found Richie standing behind her having caught his dog. "I didn't do it on purpose," he continued. "Just give me some time and I'll pay for everything."  
  
"Richie," Duncan started. "Are you hurt?" He took a step toward the teen, who flinched and stepped away.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"You didn't do anything wrong; it was an accident."  
  
Richie sucked on his bottom lip. "This isn't working. I don't belong in places like this. I don't belong with people like you."  
  
"Rich, what are you saying?"  
  
"Thanks for trying." Richie thrust out his hand, offering it to Duncan. "But, it's pointless." He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at Tessa. "And you don't have to worry, this thief isn't coming back."  
  
**##Present 1994##  
**  
"You know something, Mac?" Richie said after they had sat in silence for a minute. "That story has its funny spots...but all in all it's really depressing. What was the point of reminding me?"  
  
"Because I happen to like the story," Duncan shrugged.  
  
"There's a lesson in there, isn't there?"  
  
"People change, Richie. Tessa hated you at first, didn't she?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"But she changed."  
  
"She felt sorry for me."  
  
"What about you? You not only don't turn your nose up at escargot, you ask for it. You can read a French menu. You know when to keep your mouth shut. You changed."  
  
"So... this is your way of telling me that Jonathan could have changed."  
  
"Yeah. I know it hasn't been as long as it was supposed to be, but you never know."  
  
"Guess not." As if on cue the phone rang. "I got it." He jogged to the phone on the wall in the kitchen. "Talk to me...hey, Charlie...yeah, I'm fine," he looked over at Duncan. "No, nothing's wrong...just stuff, you know?...what?...who?... are you sure?....what does she want?...yeah, I'll be down in a sec." He hung up. "That was Charlie. Someone's here to see me. Says her name is Amy."  
  
"What does she want?" Duncan asked.  
  
"Says she has something for me," he shrugged running his fingers through his hair and looking at his reflection in the toaster. "I'm gonna go see." He got in the lift and disappeared to the main floor.  
  
Charlie gestured him to the office, without missing a beat with his karate class. Amy was looking at the practice katanas on the wall. Richie paused briefly at the door before letting himself in.  
  
"What do you want?" he asked bluntly.  
  
Amy turned around and looked him up and down. "You've grown."  
  
"You look the same."  
  
"I wasn't expecting to actually see you," she told him. "I just found Mr. MacLeod and hoped he would know where you were."  
  
"Well, I'm here. What do you want?"  
  
"To give you this." She handed him an envelope addressed to 'Richard Ryan c/o Duncan MacLeod'.  
  
"A letter?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Fine, thanks." He took the letter and moved away from the door. "See ya."  
  
"That's it?" she asked. "You don't want to talk?"  
  
"What's there to talk about?"  
  
"Well, how have you been doing?"  
  
He shrugged. "Fine."  
  
"You look great."  
  
He shrugged again. "Thanks."  
  
"You work out a lot?"  
  
"I work at a dojo, what do you think?"  
  
"Are you mad at me?" she asked.  
  
Richie rolled his eyes. "Can't imagine why."  
  
"Richie, I'm sorry. I thought you were okay."  
  
"Oh, yeah. I was fine," he snorted.  
  
"Richie, I was always on your side."  
  
"Yeah, you were a real help."  
  
"Richie..."  
  
"You know who I had on my side? A stranger and a dog. You were happy as long as I wasn't bleeding on the carpet."  
  
"That's not true!" she insisted.  
  
"Where were you when he locked me in the closet?"  
  
"He never did that."  
  
"The hell he didn't. On your anniversary. He was mad at me because I failed my math test. He wanted to make sure I didn't sneak out while you two were out so he locked me in his bedroom closet."  
  
"I didn't know."  
  
"You were happily oblivious when ever anything got too rough."  
  
"Richie, I just thought he spanked you a few times."  
  
Richie laughed. "He told you he spanked me? No, the correct term would be beat. He beat me."  
  
"I didn't know it was that bad," she insisted.  
  
"Didn't know, or didn't want to know?"  
  
"Don't be ridiculous."  
  
Richie didn't respond at first, but just stared her down. "I don't think," he said at long last, "we have anything further to discuss." He reached back and opened the office door. "Bye."  
  
Amy paused, but left without a word. Richie closed the door behind her and sat at the desk to read what she had given him. It took him a while to digest it all. It wasn't complicated, just unexpected. He must have sat in the office for nearly a half an hour because Charlie came in after his class was over.  
  
"You okay, man?"  
  
Richie looked up. "Huh? Oh, yeah I'm fine."  
  
"You mind if I kick you out? Some of us have to work for a living."  
  
"Sorry, man. I'll be back Monday, I swear." He got up and began to leave.  
  
"You know, if you ever want to talk," Charlie offered.  
  
Richie summoned what he could of a smile. "Thanks, but I'm cool." He left Charlie to his work and went back up stairs.  
  
Duncan could tell something was off by Richie's odd color as the young immortal got off the lift and went straight to the phone. Duncan watched as he picked up the phone and dialed a number off a piece of paper he was holding. Richie turned away from Duncan and angled himself toward the wall.  
  
"Hey, uh, it's me," he said quietly into the phone after a minute. "I just got your letter. But if we're going to do this, it's going to be on my terms," his voice took on a slight edge. "Same time, but by the centennial sculpture in the park. And don't think you'll be able to get away with anything... I've changed."  
  
When Richie turned around Duncan just put out his hand for the paper. Richie handed it over without protest.  
  
"Dear Ritchie," Duncan read. "We need to talk. We can't keep this bad blood between us. Will you meet me at Pier 24 at five o'clock Sunday after noon? Call m with your answer, 555-2148. – Jonathan Cooper." 


	5. A Dream

AN: This chapter contains graphic child abuse. I understand that not all people are interested in reading such scenes. So, I have marked the beginning and end of the section with &&&&& so anyone who wishes to skip that part.   
  
Also, many thanks to Bev, Beth, Aimless, MP and of course my Professor Loribelle for helping me with random details and letting me complaine and ask stupid questions and get opinions.  
  
**##PRESENT 1994##  
**  
Richie lay in bed staring at the ceiling. He couldn't believe what he had done. It was like one of those dreams. One that was so real it takes you a few minutes to realize that it was just a dream when you wake up. Richie was waiting to wake up and realize that it had all been a dream. Jonathan had never sent him the letter. He had never gotten out of jail. He was still sitting there in his cell chastising himself for being such an unbelievable jerk to an innocent kid.  
  
Sighing, Richie rolled over and looked at his clock. Big, bright red numbers told him it was three twenty seven in the morning.  
  
"This is ridiculous," he groaned as he flopped over. He closed his eyes and decided to try to force himself to relax. He took slow, steady, deep breaths. In...and out. In...and out. In...and out. In...and...out...  
  
**##PAST 1992##  
**  
"Hush, Max," Richie hissed, looking over at the dog whining behind him. "I know you gotta go out, but I have to do this first." He went back to the dishes. Amy had come over and made dinner for them. Meatloaf and mashed potatoes.  
  
"Aren't you done, yet?" Jonathan snapped coming into the kitchen.  
  
"There are a lot of dishes," Richie said.  
  
"Don't take that attitude with me!" He hit him in the back of the head. "And make your stupid mutt stop whining."  
  
"Max, hush!"  
  
"Amy had to leave early and I am not in the mood to deal with you. So just get your chores done and get in bed." He grabbed a six pack of beer out of the refrigerator and started toward the living room. "And I better not have to come in here," he barked over his shoulder.  
  
"Yes, sir," Richie mumbled.  
  
He did have every intention of finishing the dishes and hiding in his room for the rest of the night. But it seemed that it was not his week. It was a total accident. Sure, he was mad. And it wasn't as if he had never thought of doing it. But he knew better. It would have been crazy. It would be insane. It was suicide. But it was an accident.  
  
His hands were wet and his fingertips were wrinkled. He had been doing dishes all night. He had no grip left. It slipped.  
  
And in slow motion...  
  
it hit the linoleum floor...  
  
and shattered...  
  
Loudly.  
  
Very loudly.  
  
"What the hell is going on in here?"  
  
And then the shit hit the fan.  
  
**&&&&&  
**  
Richie immediately dropped to his hands and knees. "It was an accident! I'll clean it up!"  
  
"Do you have any idea how much those bowls cost?" Jonathan yelled, shoving Richie aside. "You'll pay for this, you hear me?"  
  
"I'll pay for it," Richie rushed to assure him, moving back into position to pick up the shards.  
  
"Damn right you will. With your hide!"  
  
"No...no... Jonathan, please," Richie begged. He knew this look. Last time his foster father had had this look Richie had missed nearly a month of school because he was so bruised Jonathan wouldn't let him out of the apartment. "I'll take care of it. I'll clean it all up and get you the money...please."  
  
Jonathan grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him to his feet. He was drunk. Not smashed, but just drunk enough to not care what Richie said or promised. He wanted a fight and all he had was a skinny, short seventeen-year-old.  
  
"Stay put." He held Richie with one hand and opened a drawer with the other. He grabbed the first thing his hand closed around... a large metal serving spoon. "This looks like it could be a down payment." He pushed Richie up against the counter and began swinging.  
  
Richie felt swat after swat land on his backside. Tears stung at his eyes as he bit his lip to keep from crying out. The only sound in the apartment besides metal on cotton was Max growling, barking and threatening Jonathan.  
  
"Shut up, you worthless flea bag!" Jonathan shouted kicking out with a steal toed boot.  
  
"Hey!" Richie protested before thinking. He pushed away from the counter, but Jonathan was too strong and kept him in position. "Kennel, Max!"  
  
"You better listen to him, mutt," Jonathan sneered. "I've had it with you." Another well placed kick sent the dog sliding across the floor and into the wall. Satisfied that the dog would leave him alone, he spun Richie around and closed his large hand around Richie's arm. "I've told you a thousand times to keep the dog locked up!"  
  
"He's just mad because you're...scaring him," Richie explained.  
  
"Is he scared of the loud noises?" Jonathan cooed. "Well, he better get over it because I'm not done yet."  
  
"I'll give you the money. Please, just leave me alone," Richie begged.  
  
"Are you trying to tell me what to do?" Jonathan asked, tightening his grip on Richie's arm. "Because you know that it is my job to tell you what to do." He grabbed Richie's other arm and shook him. "Not the other way 'round."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Yes, sir!" Jonathan barked slapping Richie so hard the teen slumped in his grip. Max had regained his bearings and jumped to his feet when he saw Jonathan hit Richie. He clamped his jaw around Jonathan's ankle. "Agh!"  
  
"Max, let go!" Richie shouted dropping to the floor as Jonathan's grip broke.  
  
"Get this mutt off me!" Jonathan shouted shaking his leg.  
  
"Max, let go!" Richie grabbed the dog's rear haunches and tried to pull him off. The dog held fast for over five minutes until, finally a hard kick made the dog's jaws open.  
  
"God damn dog!" he roared, picking up the dog by the scruff of his neck. Max yelped.  
  
"No! You're hurting him!" Richie yelled jumping up. "Let him go!" He reached to take the dog.  
  
"Get off me!" Jonathan yelled back handing so hard Richie fell. "You stay down there!" He took up the spoon he had dropped on the counter. "Shut up," he groaned at the dog. "Get up," he ordered. Richie scrambled to his feet. Jonathan slapped him with the spoon. "Move it." He herded the teen to the hallway closet. He opened the door and shoved Richie inside. "I'll be back for you later." He closed the door.  
  
"Leave him alone!" Richie yelled banging on the locked door. "Jonathan! Leave him alone! Don't hurt him!" He heard another door open and close. Then the apartment was silent. Richie stood staring at the line of lighting coming in under the door. He dreaded the moment he saw movement. That meant Jonathan was back. And Richie knew what was going to happen when Jonathan got back. "Help!" Richie suddenly yelled. "Someone help!" He started banging and kicking on the door. "Help me! Someone! Get me out of here!"  
  
"Hey!" Jonathan's voice yelled. Richie froze. Suddenly trying to escape didn't seem like a good idea. The closet door opened and before Richie's eyes could adjust to the light, a large hand reached in a grabbed him. "What do you think you are doing?"  
  
"I-I-I..."  
  
"Trying to get the police here?"  
  
"N-n-no..." Richie was shaking so hard he could was almost seeing double.  
  
"I think you were."  
  
"No...no..."  
  
Jonathan shoved his towards his bedroom. "You know the drill."  
  
"Please," Richie begged. "I won't do it again. I'll shut up I swear!"  
  
"Damn right you will, you little piece of shit." Jonathan rolled up his sleeves. "Get moving."  
  
"Please," Richie continued to beg even as he walked to the closet to get a belt. "I won't...I-I I'll do anything."  
  
"You'll do anything?"  
  
Seeing his way out, Richie hastily nodded. "Anything... anything you say."  
  
"Then hand me that belt and take your shirt off." Richie's face screwed up and he choked out a loud sob as he did as he was told. "Stop crying and take your punishment like a man."  
  
**&&&&&**  
  
Richie couldn't really remember what happened next. It was a blur. All he knew was that at some point, Jonathan had stopped using the belt. He must have fainted because when he woke up he was huddled on the floor and Jonathan was passed out snoring loudly on the bed. Richie wasn't sure what to do. He didn't know if he should just stay put or crawl into bed and hope to die in peace. Then suddenly it hit him.  
  
Max. He had to find Max. Slowly, he pushed himself up. He could feel scores of welts, bruises and cuts all protesting as he moved. He had to bite his already cut lip to keep from groaning. Finally, he got up on his knees and crawled into the hall. He found his shirt on the floor and put it on before gathering the courage to open the front door and walk out.  
  
He knocked on the neighbor's door. He could hear people inside, but no one answered. He tried the next door and the next, but no one would answer. Richie knew what had happened. They had heard Jonathan yelling. That was the problem with living in this neighborhood; everyone looked out for themselves. No one ever saw or heard anything. Right now, no one could hear him.  
  
Richie kept knocking on doors hoping someone hadn't heard. "I just wanna find my dog," he mumbled finally giving up. He left the building and decided the best place to look was in the park. He circled back and started calling. "Here, Max! Here, boy! Come 'ere, Max!" He searched the park with no luck. "Maa-aaax!"  
  
"Mommy, what's wrong with that doggy?" Richie heard a little boy ask his mom.  
  
"Max?" Richie went to where the boy and mother were. The mother took one look at his bruised and bloody face and hurried her child away. "Max?" Richie saw something hiding behind the dumpster. "Come here, boy."  
  
**##PRESENT 1994##  
**  
Richie woke up. He was breathing heavy and his shirt was sweaty.  
  
"Damn it," he groaned. He looked at the clock, it was nearly six. He decided to go down to the dojo and work out.  
  
"Rich?" Duncan mumbled sitting up.  
  
"Don't tell me you weren't up yet," Richie joked.  
  
"Couldn't sleep."  
  
"Join the club."  
  
"Bad dreams?"  
  
Richie polished an apple on his shirt. "Naw...just things on my mind."  
  
"Want to talk about it?" Duncan got up and joined Richie in the kitchen.  
  
"No. I'm cool."  
  
Duncan looked at Richie. "You aren't really going through with this are you?"  
  
"With what?"  
  
"Why do you want to meet him? What can that possibly accomplish?"  
  
Richie shook his head. "Mac, you wouldn't understand."  
  
"Try me."  
  
"Look, stuff like this didn't happen to you. And until it does, you can't understand."  
  
"Rich..."  
  
"Mac. This is something I have to do."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because this is my chance. Finally, I get a chance to stand up to him. I get to tell him how I feel. I get to tell him to get lost. I've dreamed of this day for two years."  
  
"Why would you put yourself through this, Richie? Can't you tell him over the phone?"  
  
"See? You don't understand!"  
  
"Then explain it to me."  
  
"Don't you get it, Mac? I can't!" Richie shouted. "I can't explain it! I just know I have to do this!"  
  
"Richie, calm down. I'm just trying to see why you would do this. It's obvious he still scares you."  
  
"No, he doesn't, Mac. I'm a little nervous, yeah. But I'm not scared. Besides, it's not like he can hurt me anymore."  
  
"Yes, he can, Richie. It just won't last as long."  
  
"It sounds to me like you're the one who's scared."  
  
"I'm sorry if I don't want you to show up tonight looking like you did two years ago."  
  
"You're not listening to me, Mac. That's not going to happen this time. I'm bigger, older and stronger. I can take care of myself. He's not going to touch me."  
  
Duncan sighed. "Do you at least want some company?"  
  
"Mac, thanks. But I don't need a bodyguard. I'm gonna go get in a work out."  
  
"Richie," Duncan called after him. "Just think about it. He beat you up and he killed you dog. Do you really want to waste your time?"  
  
**##PAST 1992##  
**  
The lights were out. But both cars were in the alley. That had to mean that they were home. Richie staggered the last few steps to the back door. He was so tired he could fall asleep standing up. He was so sore, someone could shove a gun in his face and he would offer to pull the trigger.  
  
"Mac!" he yelled, awkwardly knocking on the door. "Mac! Let me in! Please!"  
  
The door opened and Tessa stood on the other side. "Richie?"  
  
"Look, I know I said I'd leave you guys alone...but I didn't know where else to go," he voice broke.  
  
"You look horrible. Come in. Duncan!" she called ushering Richie into the loft.  
  
"What's wrong, Tess...Richie? What are you doing here? What happened to you?"  
  
"It's Max...he's hurt."  
  
Duncan paused. How could Richie be worried about his dog? There was more blue and purple on his face than normal skin tones. "Okay...put him on the table, we'll give him a look."  
  
Richie put the dog on the table and Duncan's first instinct was that the dog was already dead. But for the sake of the teen, he bent over the dog to check his injuries. He jumped when the dog growled softly.  
  
"Shh, Max," Richie soothed petting the dog's head. "Mac is one of the good guys."  
  
Duncan gently prodded the dog and examined the skin under his fur. The dog whined and moaned every time Duncan touched him.  
  
"Richie, this doesn't look good."  
  
"But you can help him, right?" Richie asked, tears pooling in his eyes.  
  
One look at his face and Duncan had to try something more. "Tessa, get a blanket. Richie, get that phone book and look up the animal clinics. We'll see if we can find one still open."  
  
"What's wrong with him?"  
  
"He needs help, Rich. But we'll do everything we can for him."  
  
It took Richie a couple minutes but he found an ad for an emergency animal clinic.  
  
"Great. Tessa, I'll call them and tell them you're on your way."  
  
Richie wrapped Max up in the blanket and picked him up. "You're gonna be okay," he promised the dog.  
  
"Um, no, Rich. Tessa will take Max. You're going to stay here so I can get a look at you."  
  
"I wanna go with Max."  
  
"All you're going to do is sit in a waiting room."  
  
"I don't care. He's my best friend. I'm not leaving him."  
  
"Richie, I'm putting my foot down. You're not leaving this building until I say you can. And you're not leaving tonight. You're in no condition to be out of bed much less gallivanting about town."  
  
"Richie," Tessa said gently. "You can't help, Max. That's for the doctor to do. But you can take care of yourself. Stay with Duncan." Numbly, Richie nodded. "I promise I will make sure they do everything they can for him." She took the dog from Richie.  
  
"You be good," Richie whispered kissing Max's head. "She'll take good care of you. You'll be good as new." Max whined and licked Richie's bloody chin. "Everything will be okay."  
  
Duncan gestured Richie into the spare bedroom as Tessa left with Max. Deep down Duncan knew there was no hope for the dog. He was pretty sure there were some broken ribs and the dog wasn't breathing well. Tessa was going to come home empty handed. But for Richie's sake he kept that to himself. He would figure out what to do later.  
  
"Okay, first things first. You sit on the bed and I will get what I need to clean you up." Without a word, Richie complied. Duncan got the first aid kit and some extra cotton, some towels and an eye dropper and set to work washing Richie's face. "Are you going to tell me what happened?" he asked as he examined the cut under Richie's bottom lip. The teen didn't answer. "Well, whatever happened, it looks pretty painful. This is going to sting a bit, but it will help prevent infection." He tilted Richie's head back and used the eye dropper to clean the cut out with hydrogen peroxide. Richie flinched, but didn't make a sound. "Alright, now your neck." He got behind the boy on the bed.  
  
The bruises on Richie's neck told a story of their own. Four dots on one side and a single one on the other and two disconnected bands across the top and bottom. Duncan had seen it often enough to know what that was. A handprint. He gently washed the area with antiseptic. He dreaded what he had to do next. He had a good enough idea what was waiting for him.  
  
"Richie, I'm going to lift up your shirt and look at your back, okay?" Richie once again nodded. Taking a deep breath to prepare himself, Duncan lifted the worn cloth. "Oh my God..." He could see the welts rising under Richie's skin. He had bruises stripping and spotting his back. There were little spots where the skin had broken, but they were either abrasions or had already scabbed over. "Stand up for me." The bruising went down below his waist band. "Are you wearing underwear?" Richie nodded. "Take off your pants for me." Richie hesitated. "I know it's embarrassing, Rich. But I need to see all the damage." Slowly Richie unbuttoned his jeans and slid them down to his ankles. He had bruises stripping his legs to his knees. "Lay down on your stomach. I'm going to clean you up. If you get uncomfortable tell me and we'll take a break."  
  
Richie allowed Duncan to clean and treat his wounds uninterrupted. Richie even let Duncan clean the abrasions on his bottom without protest. Duncan didn't know whether to be glad Richie was so comfortable with him or worried that he let him do whatever he wanted.  
  
"Okay, all done." Duncan eased the elastic of Richie's briefs back to his waist. "I'm going to go get you a shirt to sleep in." Richie didn't move. "I'll get you something to drink and some aspirin, too." Still no response. "I'll be right back."  
  
He went into his room and found the biggest t-shirt he could. He dropped it off for Richie to put on before going to get him a glass of juice. He went back into the spare room.  
  
"Take these. They'll prevent anymore swelling and help with the stiffness."  
  
Richie struggled up and took the juice and pills. "Thanks."  
  
"Richie, I know you're worried about Max. We both are. But I'm really worried about you. Why won't you tell me what happened?" Richie shook his head and looked away.  
  
Duncan sighed. He knew what had happened, but he really needed Richie to admit it to him.  
  
"Richie, look at me. Sometimes, bad things happen to innocent people. And they get embarrassed by it. They can even believe it's their fault. And so they don't tell anyone about it...sometimes they lie so no one will find out. They think they're protecting themselves. But the truth is, to protect themselves, they have to tell someone so that they can get the help they need to make whatever's happening stop." He took a deep breath. "I think you're trying to protect yourself from someone. And I'm asking you to tell me who it is, so I can stop them."  
  
Richie looked at him, inwardly debating with himself. Slowly he shook his head.  
  
"Richie, please. You're only hurting yourself." He started to put his hand on Richie's shoulder, but stopped as he remembered why they were having this conversation. "Is it your father?"  
  
Richie shook his head. "He's not my father," he said softly. "Not my real one."  
  
"Are you adopted?"  
  
Richie snorted. "You don't get paid when you adopt."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"He's my foster dad." He sniffled and his bottom lip shook. "Please don't send me back. He's gonna kill me. I ran away. I wasn't supposed to leave."  
  
"I'm not sending you back, Rich." He gently wiped the tear off Richie's cheeks. "No crying. This is good. You did the right thing. Now we can fix it and make it right. There's no reason to cry."  
  
Richie snorted and nodded. "Okay."  
  
"You'll be okay. But I do think you should go to the hospital to get checked out."  
  
"I thought you said I was okay?"  
  
"You are. But I'm not a doctor, Richie."  
  
"I don't want to go to the hospital. I don't need to. Its just some bruises. Nothing's broken or anything. Don't make me go."  
  
Duncan thought it over. Richie was right, he had no broken bones and none of the damage looked bad enough to cause internal injury. They would probably just put him in bed to get some rest. "Alright. No hospital... for now. But I want you to promise me that if you start to feel any worse, or I notice anything wrong you'll go." Richie nodded. "Good. And now, I think its time for you to get some sleep. So you just lay down and get some rest. If you need anything, I'll be right down the hall."  
  
Duncan pulled back the blankets for Richie to get under. "What about Max?"  
  
"You won't do him any good if you're too tired to function." Richie nodded, too tired to argue. Duncan helped him into a comfortable position and tucked him in.  
  
"Thanks," he mumbled.  
  
"You just get some sleep." Duncan smoothed back Richie's hair. "Good night, Rich." He turned off the light and closed the door. 


	6. Apologies, Forgivness and ice cream

**##PAST 1992##**  
  
"Duncan?" Tessa asked. The apartment was dark; the only light was the table lamp by the couch.  
  
"Right here." Duncan was sitting on the couch staring at the wall. "How's the dog?"  
  
Tessa sat down next to him and leaned into his chest. "They did everything they could... but he died. There was too much damage."  
  
Duncan sighed and put his arm around Tessa's shoulders. "I was afraid of that."  
  
"How's Richie doing?"  
  
"He's lucky he didn't end up in a hospital room."  
  
"Is he hurt badly?"  
  
"He'll be okay."  
  
"What did the doctors say?"  
  
"I didn't take him, Tessa."  
  
"Why not, he could be really hurt. Internal damage."  
  
"I don't think there was any real damage. Just enough to hurt and scare the hell out of him." Duncan sighed. "I have a half a mind to go to Richie's apartment and do the same to that bastard."  
  
"Did he tell you who did it?"  
  
"His foster father."  
  
"Someone at home did that to him?"  
  
"That's why I encouraged him coming here. You'd be surprised how much weight he's gained since I hired him."  
  
"Gained weight? He's tiny."  
  
"I don't think he gets fed much at home. He's always hungry when he comes over."  
  
"That's why he had the food in his pocket," Tessa realized. Duncan nodded. "And I treated him like dirt. I didn't even give him a chance. I just brushed him off as a delinquent."  
  
"You didn't know, Tess."  
  
"I should have noticed."  
  
"You only knew him for a couple hours. And I don't think he had any bruises on him that night."  
  
"Have you called the police?" Tessa asked, changing the subject. "We should report this."  
  
"I know we should. But I can't bring myself to. They'll just send him to social services and they're the ones who put him with the bastard in the first place."  
  
"But we can't let this man get away with it."  
  
"You're right. We can at least let him get some rest, first. Tomorrow, we'll call the police."  
  
They sat in agreeable silence for a minute. "Why do you think he was in foster care? Did they take him away from his parents?" Tessa asked.  
  
"I'd hate to think where they would take him away from if they thought he was better off where they put him."  
  
"Do you think he's an orphan?"  
  
"I don't know, Tess. He doesn't tell anyone anything. Besides, it doesn't matter why they put him there. We just have to make sure he doesn't have to go back."  
  
"Is he asleep now?"  
  
"I think so. He's been pretty quiet."  
  
"How did you get him to tell you?"  
  
"I just told him that I would make it stop."  
  
"He must really trust you."  
  
"I don't get the impression he has anyone looking out for him. I've spent every minute I had with him trying to build his trust. I just wish I could have gotten it in another situation."  
  
Silence took over again as they sat holding onto each other, until they heard a groan come from the spare room.  
  
"I'll go check on him," Tessa said getting up. "I have to let him know he has two people on his side." She knocked softly on the door before opening it. "Richie, is anything wrong?" she asked.  
  
"I'm okay," Richie said, struggling to sit up.  
  
"I heard you groaning. Did you bump something?"  
  
"I tried to roll over," he admitted with a slight blush.  
  
"Is it that bad?"  
  
Richie awkwardly shrugged. "I've been told."  
  
"Do you mind if I have a look?"  
  
"I'm not wearing any pants."  
  
"I'll keep the blanket up," she promised. "I just want to see."  
  
Richie thought about it. "I guess." He rolled slowly and stiffly flipped onto his stomach.  
  
Tessa situated the blankets at Richie's waist. "Is this okay?" Richie nodded. She lifted up the t-shirt. "Richie..."  
  
"I'm gettin' kinda cold," he said after she had been staring at him for a few minutes.  
  
"Oh, of course." She put the shirt back down. "Does it hurt?"  
  
"Waddya you think?"  
  
"How far down does it go?" She reached out and ran her fingers through his hair.  
  
"To his knees," Duncan answered from the door way. "But he'll be okay."  
  
Richie turned back over and pushed himself up. "I'm fine."  
  
Duncan sat on the edge of Richie's bed. "What's your foster father's name?"  
  
"Why?"  
  
"We need to report this."  
  
"The police? You can't call the police," Richie told him.  
  
"We need to file a complaint," Tessa said. "This is against the law. He should go to jail."  
  
"You can't call the police," Richie repeated.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"I'm not going back." Richie struggled out from under the blankets and crawled to the foot of the bed.  
  
"Go where?" Tessa asked. "Your foster home?"  
  
"Richie, the whole point of reporting your foster father is to get you away from him," Duncan said.  
  
"I won't let them take me back there," Richie continued, getting off the bed. "I'll run away. I'd rather take my chances on the street than live with those hypocrites."  
  
"You aren't talking about your foster father, are you?"  
  
"I hate it there."  
  
"Where?"  
  
"The orphanage. That's where I'm gonna end up."  
  
"What's so wrong with the orphanage?" Duncan asked. "They'll take care of you there. You'll be safe. No one will be able to hurt you."  
  
"Yeah. They'll just stick me in some room by myself countin' down the days until they can kick me out."  
  
"What?" Tessa was confused. "They'll take care of you. It's their job."  
  
"Yeah. Real 9 to 5."  
  
"Richie, why don't you like the orphanage?"  
  
"Because they're all...they're all just like you," he accused, pointing at Tessa.  
  
"What are you talking about, Rich?" Duncan asked. He was pretty sure he didn't like the idea of Tessa being compared to these people.  
  
"They pretend to care. They give you lunch and make sure you brush your teeth and say your prayers. They tell you that they're here for you if you need them. Then as soon as they think you can't hear them, they tell everyone what a pain in the ass you are!" Tears welled in his eyes. "And why you're still around 'cause no one wants a kid like you! How you're nothing but a trouble maker, how people just want to be rid of ya. You're just in the way. You're never gonna amount to anything. You're worthless. How the tax payers are going to support you for your entire life 'cause you're just going to end up in jail."  
  
"Rich, did you hear someone say that?"  
  
"It's not my fault!" he continued, ignoring the question. "It's not like I asked for this. I didn't ask to turn out like this." Tears rolled down his cheeks. "I didn't ask for my dad to leave us. I didn't ask for my mom to die. I didn't ask to end up a thief. But it's not like anyone ever noticed anything. How was I supposed to know that they'd suddenly care?"  
  
"Is that why you did it, Rich? So people would pay attention to you?"  
  
"I'm sorry if I'm not as smart as the other kids. Or not as big. Not as fast. Not as funny. Not as athletic. Not as talented. It's not my fault. I try, I'm just not. But I'm not a bad kid, honest, I'm not."  
  
"I never thought you were, Rich," Duncan said. "Who said that stuff about you? Who made you feel like that?"  
  
"Everybody. Everybody says stuff like that about me. Nobody cares. Nobody ever cared. They just want me out of the way."  
  
"I'm sure that's not true."  
  
"Do you know how many times I had to stay in a cell with a bunch of drunks and pimps for a week because my foster parents couldn't be reached? Or bothered? They couldn't care less."  
  
"So no one cares about you. No one in this entire world. It's just you. You looking out for yourself."  
  
"Someone has to!"  
  
Tessa got up off the bed. "Richie, it doesn't have to be like that."  
  
"How would you know? You just got back from France. I've never been out of the city. You have money. You're just like them. Some snot nosed rich guy's bratty kid born with a silver spoon in your mouth that thinks your better than that stupid kid. The thief. The no good punk."  
  
"Richie!" Duncan scolded. "You better think about what you're saying. You're being very rude."  
  
"I don't care. I'm sick of having to behave for everyone else. It never works. I always screw it up. I tried to behave for Jonathan and look what he did to me! I tried to behave for you and you're just going to send me away. I'm through. This is pointless. If it's not going to work then I'm not going to try!" He scrubbed at the tears on his face.  
  
"We're not sending you away," Tessa told him. "We're just trying to help." She put her hand out and he moved away.  
  
"You want to help? Then leave me alone!"  
  
"Why? So you can go out and get hurt again? I know you don't trust me. I haven't given you a reason to. All I can do is apologize. I was rash. I didn't give you a fair chance. But I promise you, I am not like those other people. I can admit when I was wrong. And I was. And I can ask for a second chance."  
  
"Why should I give you another chance? No one ever gave me one!"  
  
"Because you are better than those people," Tessa told him. "I should have given you a chance. And I'm sorry I didn't. I would love to forget that I said those things about you, because they were wrong. We may be different, but I'm not better than you are. Right now you're just as bad as me. I wouldn't give you another chance, and you won't give me one." She made sure she was looking him in the eye. "I really want another chance. I want to be your friend. I want to help. I want you to know you can trust me."  
  
Duncan watched as the teen finished his break down. He sobbed loudly and all but threw himself at her. She carefully hugged him and stroked his hair. She spoke softly to him; Duncan couldn't hear what she said. But he nodded and let her steer him back to bed.  
  
"I'll be right back," she told him, taking Duncan by hand and leading him out of the room.  
  
"What did you say to him?" Duncan asked, following Tessa into the kitchen.  
  
She smiled at him. "That's between me and Richie."  
  
"That was quite some speech you gave him. I'm impressed."  
  
"You think you're the only one who can talk to children?"  
  
"Are you making him a sundae?" Duncan asked, watching Tessa scoop out ice cream and put it in a rather large bowl.  
  
"I think he needs a pick-me-up. He's been through a lot. He could do with some spoiling." She nearly emptied the bottle of chocolate sauce onto the ice cream.  
  
Duncan smiled. "What made you change your mind about him?"  
  
"I felt sorry for him, hearing what those people said about him, what he thinks of himself. It broke my heart."  
  
"It is a sad story. The hell one kid can go through. I think there's more than one person who needs to answer for this. There's some pretty strong evidence of metal abuse in him. The kid has zero self esteem."  
  
"We can work on that. But first..." she topped off the sundae with whipped cream and a cherry. "I think I'm going to heal the wound I gave him."  
  
**##PRESENT 1994##  
**  
Duncan gave Richie twenty minutes before going down to check on him. It was Sunday, so the gym was closed. Richie was currently taking out his frustration on the punching bag.  
  
"Do you really want to do that bare knuckles?" Duncan asked. "I'm sure you'd save yourself some pain if you put on some gloves."  
  
"I'm fine," Richie grunted, leaning into the bag.  
  
"At least tape your hands."  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
"You're going to hurt yourself."  
  
Richie stopped. "Mac, gimme a break would ya?"  
  
"Come on." Duncan took Richie by the arm and pulled him to the mats. "Take off your shoes."  
  
"Mac..."  
  
"You want a work out, I want to work on your hand to hand; it's perfect."  
  
"Fine," Richie groaned as he took off his shoes and socks.  
  
"Remember that move I showed you last week?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Then let's see it."  
  
Richie got into position and Duncan put one arm over Richie's left shoulder and the other under his right arm.  
  
"Okay. Bring up your left knee. Put your weight on your right foot. Reach around and grab..."  
  
"Mac, I said I remembered it!" Richie groaned as he executed the move. He grabbed Duncan's left leg and twisted his knee before pulling him to the mat.  
  
"So you do," Duncan grunted from the floor.  
  
"Why don't we just skip the lessons and go for it."  
  
"Go for it?" Duncan repeated.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"You just want to start wrestling."  
  
"I can take you," Richie boasted.  
  
"Fine, let's go."  
  
"On three."  
  
"One, two, three!"  
  
They ended up going best six out of ten.  
  
"You were close," Duncan assured Richie, handing him a towel. "You're getting pretty good."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"You up for some swords?" Duncan asked, sensing that Richie wasn't quite ready to quit yet.  
  
"Sure."  
  
"Grab a couple wooden ones. Just in case we get sloppy."  
  
"Okay." Richie got the swords off the wall. "Let's go."  
  
They went three rounds until finally calling it quits.  
  
"I better take a shower," Richie decided. "I wanna get their early so I don't lose my nerve."  
  
"Are you sure you want to do this, Rich?"  
  
"For the last time, Mac, I'm doing this."  
  
"Okay, okay, fine."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Richie circled Tessa's sculpture for the fifth time. "Okay, Tess. You made all this okay before. I need you to do it again."  
  
He stopped circling and leaned up against the sculpture. He had ten minutes before Jonathan was supposed to meet him. Richie was ready for this. He could do this. It was all a matter of keeping his head on straight. He knew what he wanted to say. He knew how this was going to go.  
  
All he wanted to do was tell Jonathan what a creep he was. How much he hated him. And then he could leave. He would have total and complete closure.  
  
"Richie, you're early."  
  
Richie turned around. There stood his single greatest human fear in life. A six foot four, thirty eight-year-old bully. Richie's mouth went dry.  
  
"You look great, kid. You look a few inches taller. A lot bigger." Richie numbly nodded. "How you been doing?" Richie couldn't seem to get his mouth to work. "You okay, kid?" Jonathan reached toward him and put his hand on his shoulder. Richie flinched, but didn't reject the touch. "You look a little pale."  
  
It was obviously Richie's turn to speak. Jonathan was waiting for him to say something. So, he said the first thing that came to mind:  
  
"You spelled my name wrong." 


	7. A Ride in A Squad Car

ONE BIG LONG FLASHBACK!

**##PAST 1992##  
**  
Tessa emerged from the spare room nearly an hour later with the empty bowl.  
  
"He's willing to let us call the police tomorrow. But he wants to get some things from the apartment first. I think he's scared his foster father won't let him have everything."  
  
"How did you convince him?" Duncan asked as he followed her into the kitchen.  
  
"I just told him that if he refuses to press charges then he could do it to another child and it would be his fault."  
  
"He let you say that to him?"  
  
"He was a little mad at first, but he thought about it and said I was right. Then he agreed."  
  
"How is he now?"  
  
"Exhausted. I think everything was just too much for him. But, he knows what he has to do and he's willing to do it now. I am still worried he may try to run away."  
  
"From us or from social services?"  
  
"He's too tired to run tonight. But he really doesn't want to go to the orphanage." She put the bowl in the sink and started washing it.  
  
"Tess, there's nothing we can do. Legally, he's a ward of the state. I can call our lawyer, but I'm pretty sure our only option is to let him go."  
  
"He's a foster child, right?"  
  
"Right."  
  
"So he'll need foster parents. Let's just keep him."  
  
"I doubt it's that easy, Tess."  
  
"What would we have to do? Fill out some papers and pass an inspection. If they'd give custody to someone who would do that to him, they have to give custody to us."  
  
"You really want to keep him here?" Duncan asked.  
  
"I have to make it up to him. I have to prove to him that some people can be trusted. Not everyone is against him."  
  
"We'll do what we can, then. I'll call Kevin in the morning before we take Richie to get his things that way we'll be armed and prepared for a custody battle."  
  
"And maybe if he knows we're trying to take him home with us, he won't run away," Tessa added as she put away the clean dish.  
  
"Or it might make him all the more anxious to get away."  
  
"So we shouldn't do it?"  
  
"Maybe we shouldn't tell him until we are a little surer of what we're doing."  
  
Tessa nodded. "Alright."  
  
They decided to go to bed themselves. They had all had a long day. Tessa went into Richie's room and shook him awake softly.  
  
"We're going to bed," she whispered to him. "If you need us, we'll be in our room. Don't be afraid to come wake us up." He sighed and nodded, then fell right back to sleep.  
  
"We'll just let him sleep until he wakes up," Duncan whispered leaving the door open a crack so they could hear Richie if he called.  
  
"Good idea."  
  
Richie was still asleep the next morning when Duncan got off the phone with their lawyer.  
  
"What did Kevin say?" Tessa asked expectantly.  
  
"If Richie's as close to being eighteen as I think he is...its pointless to even try."  
  
"What?"  
  
"We'd never get approved in time."  
  
Tessa sighed and put down her cup of tea. "So what do we do?"  
  
"He said the best we could do is visitation rights."  
  
"That's it?"  
  
"We could get approved for that in a matter of days."  
  
"We have to be approved to go see him?"  
  
"Because of his situation, Kevin is pretty sure they're going to be very protective of him. Restrict who he can see and where he can go. They have to be sure of who's talking to him because they will have to withhold his identity from the media."  
  
"The media?"  
  
"A foster child accusing their guardian of something like this is going to attract attention. All of CPS is going to be under investigation. I wouldn't be surprised if it was on the news tonight."  
  
Tessa shook her head. "Why does the whole city have to know about all this?"  
  
"I don't know, Tess."  
  
"I'm going to make Richie some breakfast."  
  
"He's not awake yet."  
  
"Well, he'll be awake by the time breakfast is ready."  
  
As it tuned out Richie was still sound asleep by the time Tessa had finished making waffles, bacon and hashbrowns. Duncan went to wake him up and help him get dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a clean t-shirt. Richie was stiff and sore, but insisted he was okay.  
  
"Smells great," Richie said walking into the kitchen.  
  
"I hope you like waffles," Tessa put a stack on the table.  
  
"Love 'em." Duncan sat Richie at the table and helped Tessa get the rest of the food out.  
  
"Did we miss anything?" Duncan asked, looking at the table.  
  
"Syrup?" Richie suggested hopefully.  
  
"We have some somewhere..." Duncan searched the pantry. "You know what? I don't think we have any. Is there something else you'd like to put on them?"  
  
"Just butter, I guess."  
  
"I have an idea," Tessa said getting up. "Just start with the bacon and potatoes."  
  
She got a bowl of fresh fruit and cut up some strawberries, peaches and apples.  
  
"Fruit?" Richie asked when Tessa returned to the table.  
  
"Yes. Fruit and whipped cream. What do you think?"  
  
"Sounds good to me," Duncan said.  
  
"I'll try it," Richie decided. He ended up eating one waffle with apples, one with peaches, one with strawberries and two with all three.  
  
"You like it?" Duncan laughed as Richie emptied the whipped cream can onto his sixth waffle.  
  
"Sorry," Richie blushed. "I eat when I'm nervous."  
  
"Then maybe we should call it quits. So you don't throw up on us."  
  
"Alright." Richie put his fork down.  
  
They all pitched in to clean up the dishes. Then sat down in the living room to discuss what they were going to do.  
  
"What's your foster father's name?" Duncan asked.  
  
"Jonathan Cooper."  
  
"I want to be between you two and Cooper at all times, do you understand?" Richie nodded. "You don't have to worry about anything, Rich. He'll have to go through me if he wants to get to you." Richie nodded again. "Do you know what you want to get from your room?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Okay. Tessa, I want you to go back with him to his room and help him get what he wants. Make it as fast as you can."  
  
"We will."  
  
"After that we're going straight to the police station. Are we agreed?"  
  
"Yes." Tessa put her hand on Richie's knee. "Everything will be okay, now."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Duncan knocked on the door to Jonathan's apartment. Tessa was holding onto Richie's hand while he hid a bit behind Duncan. Jonathan opened the door.  
  
"Can I help..." he caught site of Richie. "You found him! Oh, I was so worried!" He reached out and tried to grab Richie's hand. "What happened to you?"  
  
"I'm sure you were." Duncan blocked Jonathan's hand.  
  
"Of course I was. I woke up and he was gone. He didn't tell me he was going anywhere. Are you okay, kiddo?"  
  
"Drop the act, Cooper," Duncan snarled. "We know what you've been doing to him."  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about."  
  
"You know what happened to him, because you did it."  
  
"Is that what he told you?" Jonathan asked reaching for Richie again. "You know what I've told you about lying, Richie. He's my foster son and I'm afraid he's a bit of a pathological liar."  
  
"I don't think he is. I suggest you let us in before the whole building gets involved."  
  
"I think you should give me the kid and get out of here before I call the cops for harassment."  
  
"Funny, we were on our way there," Tessa spoke up. "We have a domestic complaint to file. Apparently our friend is being abused."  
  
"Richie get in this house right now," Jonathan ordered. Richie inhaled sharply and tightened his grip on Tessa's hand. "I said get in here." Richie shook his head. "You little shit." He made a grab for the teen and Duncan grabbed his arm, twisting it.  
  
"Get inside." Jonathan stepped back and let them in. "Richie, go with Tessa and get your things, while Cooper and I have a talk."  
  
Richie took Tessa down the hallway and into his room. Tessa wasn't sure what she had been expecting, but bunk beds, a TV, VCR and stereo wasn't it.  
  
"What did you want to get?" she asked letting go of Richie's hand.  
  
"Just a few things." He went to the dresser and opened the bottom left drawer. Inside was a box. "What's in there?"  
  
"Just some stuff. Pictures, things like that."  
  
"Alright, let's get a bag and pack your things."  
  
Richie nodded and grabbed a back pack off the desk chair. He packed it with a few T-shirts and a couple pairs of underwear and socks. "Okay, I'm ready."  
  
"What about all this?" Tessa asked looking in his closet. "Don't you want these clothes?"  
  
"That stuff isn't mine. Can we just go?"  
  
"What do you mean it's not yours? They're your size."  
  
"No. Just...let's get this over with."  
  
Tessa offered her hand and he took it before they went back into the living room.  
  
Duncan had Jonathan cornered by the TV and was speaking softly to him. Richie and Tessa stood behind the couch watching.  
  
"You can't prove anything," Jonathan said.  
  
"I saw you," Duncan told him.  
  
"When?"  
  
"Just today. You were going to bring him in here and beat the hell out of him, weren't you?"  
  
"Of course not."  
  
"That's what I saw. Tessa?"  
  
"That's what I saw," she agreed. "You were going to hurt him."  
  
"Richie, go to your room," Jonathan told him. "I think the grown ups need to talk."  
  
Richie looked at Duncan, who gave him the go ahead, then went back into his room. Jonathan seemed pretty sure of himself. Maybe this wasn't going to work. But Duncan and Tessa seemed pretty sure of themselves, too. Maybe it would. He had to admit, no matter how much he hated the orphanage, he hated this room more.  
  
At first glance it seemed like the perfect teenager's room. He had his own TV and VCR and nice big stereo, not that they were plugged in. A large tape and record collection, not that he liked any of the bands. He had nice beds, tons of books and comics...not that he was a big reader or comic fan.  
  
The room was a prison. A nicely decorated prison.  
  
Richie heard a knock at the front door. No one ever knocked on their door. Amy had a key and no one else ever bothered them. Someone opened the door and Richie could hear stifled voices. His curiosity egging him on, he went out to investigate. He snuck down the hall and peered around the corner. What were the police doing here? Didn't Duncan say they were going to go to the station?  
  
"Who called?" Duncan was asking an officer.  
  
"All tips are kept anonymous, sir. All we can tell you is we got a call that someone was worried about a minor in this residence. A possible domestic problem."  
  
Duncan nodded. "Here's your domestic problem." He pointed at Jonathan. "The minor is spying on us in the hallway."  
  
The half of Richie's face that wasn't bruised turned a bright red as he stepped around the corner. The officers looked between Richie and Jonathan and back. Richie shifted uncomfortably and studied the toe of his sneakers. Jonathan started insisting that everyone was lying.  
  
"I never laid a hand on that boy! He ran away last night and these people brought him back looking like this and throwing around accusations. I didn't do a damn thing to that kid!"  
  
One of the officers approached Richie and bent so he was eye to eye with him. "Did he have anything to do with your bruises?" Richie looked up and slowly nodded. The officer turned around. "This boy says different."  
  
"He's a liar."  
  
"I'm afraid we're going to have to take you downtown," the second officer said reaching for the handcuffs at the back of his belt. "Just for some questioning."  
  
"I'm not going anywhere."  
  
"Sir, please turn around."  
  
"You have no proof of anything!"  
  
"Sir, please turn around."  
  
"I want you out of my home! You have no business here!"  
  
"Sir, I will not ask you again," the officer warned. "Please turn around." Jonathan still refused and when the officer reached for him he slapped the hand away.  
  
"I'm not going anywhere! Get out of here! How I deal with that boy is my own business!"  
  
The second officer left Richie's side and was quickly replaced by Tessa and Duncan. Tessa put her arm gently around Richie's shoulders. The teen flinched at the pressure on his bruises, but allowed the comforting arm to stay. It took the two officers a few more ties to get Jonathan under control and in restraint. One officer took him down to the waiting squad car and the other retuned to Richie.  
  
"What's your name, son?" he asked, taking out a small note pad.  
  
"Richie Ryan."  
  
"Richard your real first name?"  
  
"Oh, yeah."  
  
"Is there a way we can get in contact with your mother or another family member?"  
  
Richie shook his head. "Richie's a foster child," Duncan spoke up. "That man is not his father."  
  
"Are you his social workers?"  
  
"No."  
  
"What's your social worker name, Richie?"  
  
"Connie Mankin..."  
  
The officer took hold of the walkie-talkie on his shoulder. "I need to get a call in to CPS. Ms. Connie Mankin needs to report to the station to pick up a charge." The radio crackled a static response. "Richie, I need you to come with me now." He reached out and took Richie gently by the arm.  
  
"You're going to put him in a car with that man?" Tessa was appalled.  
  
"No, ma'am. All domestic complaint are answered by two patrols. Mr. Cooper will not be within reach of Richie."  
  
"Can't we just take him?"  
  
"I'm afraid not, ma'am. Richie here is officially a ward of the state. I cannot release him to anyone but a foster parent or social worker. But I will need you to come by the station to get your statements. And if you'd like to file a complaint you may do so at that time."  
  
"We'll come right now," Duncan said. "He needs to be an adult to file charges, so I'll do it for him."  
  
"What's your relation to him?"  
  
"I'm his friend and he works for me."  
  
"Okay. If you want to come now you can follow us, but I have to take Richie with me."  
  
Duncan and Tessa followed Richie out to the waiting squad car.  
  
"Do I have to sit in back?" Richie asked softly.  
  
"Its not protocol, but you can sit up front with me. Just don't touch the computer, okay?" Richie nodded and allowed the officer to open the door for him and close it after he got in.  
  
"We're right behind you," Duncan told Richie through the glass.  
  
Once at the station, Richie was taken into an office to get pictures taken of his bruises. While he was gone, Duncan and Tessa made their statements and began the steps to pressing charges against Jonathan.  
  
When Richie was dressed again, an officer sat him on a waiting bench and went to make him some hot chocolate.  
  
"Well, if it isn't little Dickie Ryan."  
  
"Aw, man." Richie slumped in his seat.  
  
"What'd you do this time, kid?"  
  
"Leave me alone, Powell," Richie mumbled hiding his face.  
  
"What's wrong with you? Aren't you going to correct me? Make a fat joke or anything?"  
  
"I'm not in the mood," he pouted.  
  
"You sick?" Richie shook his head. The Powell realized what had happened. Richie was the child abuse case the precinct was buzzing about. "Lemme see...Dickie." He reached down and turned Richie's face to the light. "Holy hell, kid. You look like crap. That big guy in booking did that to you?" Richie nodded. "What'd he use, a baseball bat?"  
  
"That's just his hand."  
  
"Well, I've had to throw you around enough to know that you don't bruise that easy. You need someone on your side, you call me. You got it, Dickie?"  
  
"It's Richie," he protested with a shy smile. Who would have thought Powell gave a carp about him, much less liked him.  
  
"Sure it is." He ruffled Richie's hair, much like Duncan had done a few times, then walked away.  
  
The rest of the day went by quickly. Duncan and Tessa stood by his side as he gave his statements to the officer and all three signed some very official looking forms. Then Connie showed up, fussed over his bruises apologizing.  
  
"Oh you poor little thing," she cooed at him. "You must feel so awful. It looks so painful."  
  
"Get your hands off me!" Richie snapped, pushing her away.  
  
"Richie!" Duncan scolded. "What's the matter with you?"  
  
"She knows!" the bruised teen insisted. "She knows! I told her!"  
  
"Richie, do you know what you're saying?" Duncan asked, kneeling in front of the boy's chair so they were eye level.  
  
"She knew, Mac!"  
  
The officer looked at Richie. "Do you understand what kind of accusations you're making here, son?" He nodded.  
  
"Richie, this isn't going to keep you from going back to the orphanage," Duncan told him. "Think about what you're saying."  
  
"I'm telling the truth, Mac!" he insisted. "She said I deserved whatever I got! I swear I'm not lying!"  
  
"I believe him," Tessa spoke up. "If Richie says he told her, then he told her." She put a protective hand on Richie's shoulder. "And it's one more reason for him to come home with us."  
  
"You'd do that?" Richie asked excitedly. "You'd let me go home with you?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"They'd give you $250 a week for me. And I don't cost that much. And I can help around the house and the store. I don't cook so well, but I can do dishes and dust and vacuum and laundry...I even do toilets. You won't regret this..."  
  
"Slow down, partner," Duncan interrupted. "We want to take you home with us. But you can't count on that. There's not enough time."  
  
"But...but Tessa just said that..."  
  
"I know what she said. We didn't mean to get your hopes up, Rich. We've already talked to our lawyer and there's no way we could get custody."  
  
"There's not?" Richie's voice sounded like it belonged to a six year old, not an almost eighteen year old.  
  
"We want to, Rich. We just can't."  
  
"Yeah, I get it." The cynical teen was back.  
  
"Don't be like that, Rich.."  
  
"You don't have to stick around, you know. They'll just send someone to get me."  
  
"Don't you want us to keep you company?" Tessa asked.  
  
"There are plenty of people around."  
  
"Well, you do need some adults to back you up about your social worker," the officer said. "If you want to officially file a complaint."  
  
Connie, who had been doing her best to become invisible spoke up. "Am I going to jail."  
  
"Yes," Richie said at the same time to officer said: "Possibly. I do need to get your personal information and advise you not to leave town."  
  
It took another hour to process the second complaint. While they were waiting for it to be written, Duncan and Tessa tried their best to make amends with Richie. But the teen stood his ground and refused to look at, much less speak with, them.  
  
A second social worker arrived shortly after. In stark contrast to Connie's nice suite and bun, this one was wearing overalls and a ponytail. She introduced herself as Tamara before taking the seat next to Richie. She filled out his release papers, asking him a few questions to fill in what she didn't know.  
  
"Are you ready to go home?" she asked as she stood up.  
  
"Yeah, 'home'," Richie scoffed.  
  
"Don't forget your bag," Tessa reminded him, handing it over.  
  
"You give us a call when you're feeling better," Duncan added, taking out a business card.  
  
Richie clutched his bag firmly to his chest and looked away.  
  
"I'll be sure he gets it," Tamara smiled at him as she took the card. "Teenagers are moody creatures, don't take this personally." She took Richie gently by the arm and led him out of the precinct.  
  
They got in her government issue white sedan and went straight to the orphanage. He was ushered to the orphanage infirmary where he was immediately inspected, cleaned up, fed, drugged and put to bed. Richie's last thoughts before he drifted off into sleep was a wish that he could go home with Duncan and Tessa... if they'd ever forgive him horrible behavior.


	8. Another Move

My Professor LoriBelle (aka my beta) is out of town and so this is a un-"professionally" betaed chap. But my good friend Richiefic was kind enough to give it a once over (twice) and help me fix any glareing mistakes. Unfortunatly, neither one of us can spell...but it shouldn't be too bad. THANKS RICHIE FIC!!!  
  
**##PRESENT 1994##**  
  
Jonathan was waiting for him to say something. So, he said the first thing that came to mind:  
  
"You spelled my name wrong."  
  
"What?" Jonathan asked.  
  
"You spelled my name wrong...in the letter. You put a 't' in it. There's no 't' in Richie; it's short for Richard and there's no 't' in that either."  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry. I suppose I wasn't paying attention when I wrote it."  
  
"Guess not." He stepped out Jonathan's reach. "What do you want, anyway?"  
  
Surprisingly, Jonathan blushed and looked away. "This isn't easy to do, kiddo."  
  
"Don't call me that."  
  
"Sorry...is it still Richie?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Jonathan took a deep breath and started studying Tessa's sculpture. "I want to apologize to you, Rich."  
  
"Don't call me that, either."  
  
"You don't like 'Rich'?"  
  
"No, my friends call me that."  
  
"Sorry," he said. "I'll try to remember that. But I really do want to apologize for what I did to you."  
  
"That's it?" Richie scoffed. "You just say 'sorry, kiddo' and that makes it all better?"  
  
"I'm not asking for your forgiveness, Rich..Richie. I just want you to know how truly bad I feel when I think about I put you through."  
  
"Apology not accepted."  
  
"I understand." Jonathan nodded. "I don't deserve it."  
  
Richie's eyes narrowed. "Don't deserve it? You think you deserve to be able to talk to me in a public place? You think you deserve to be out of prison after two years? You think you deserve to be allowed to walk the same streets as decent people?"  
  
"No, I don't," Jonathan admitted, fingering a rosery hidden away in his pocket.  
  
"You think you deserve the opportunity to start over as if you aren't the biggest ass hole on the face of the planet?"  
  
"Everyone deserves a second chance, Richie," he said, reaching out and playing with one of the screws that attached the sculpture to its base.  
  
"No," Richie insisted. "Don't touch that!" he added, slapping Jonathan's hand away from Tessa's sculpture.  
  
"What'd I do? It's just a sculpture."  
  
"You wouldn't say that if you knew the woman who created that and you were the one who helped her with it," Richie snapped.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"Shut up. Just go away." Richie turned his back.  
  
"I have something I want to give you," Jonathan said, taking something out of his jacket pocket.  
  
##PAST 1992##  
  
"Roll over," Dr. Murphy said taking a pair of sterile rubber gloves out of his jacket pocket.  
  
Richie lay quietly on his stomach while the doctor inspected his healing bruises. He had been confined to his bed in the infirmary for the past ten days. It had been incredibly boring. Every now and then someone would come in to check on him, but for the most part he was left to himself to "heal in the peace and quiet" as the resident nurse put it. He had read four books and over twelve magazines in the peace and quiet. The only time he got any company was when Tamara came to visit him every three days. She was nice enough, and could tell him the important things like who won the ball game last night, but Richie was really beginning to miss Duncan and even Tessa.  
  
He knew they were telling the truth when they told him they wanted to take him home. And he knew that a month and a few days was not enough time to get approved to become foster parents. He had spent a few hours wondering what it would be like to live with them. He'd get some attention that didn't involve yelling and hitting. Maybe a lecture or two when he did something wrong, but neither one of them seemed like the physical punishment type. Duncan was a great cook. Richie was sure he could grow those last few inches people were always promising him if he got to eat the meals Duncan always made.  
  
Tessa seemed like a really nice person, too. She was a waste of mother potential. A woman like her needed a kid to look after. She seemed a bit snobby at first, but once you got to know her you could see she was just classy and not used to anything but the classiest. She was gentle, but blunt, beautiful, but natural, comforting, but demanding. She was the woman Richie had always wanted to move in with. The type he wanted to marry. He had caught himself getting a bit too excited more than once while day dreaming about her.  
  
But, hormonal teenage fantasies aside, Tessa and Duncan were the kind of placement he had always dreamed of. They were that perfect balance between friends and parents. Richie didn't mind it when Duncan told him what to do or corrected his language. He was nice about it. And they both knew how to make a stupid teenager feel like his opinion, thoughts, ideas and feelings mattered.  
  
"Richard? Did you hear what Dr. Murphy said?" Mrs. Higgins, the orphanage administrator asked.  
  
"Um, no."  
  
"I said," the gray haired doctor repeated with a kind smile. "That you are healing very nicely. And much more quickly than I would have expected after seeing you that first day. I think you'll be ready to move into a foster home by the end of the week."  
  
"Great," Richie said less than enthusiastically.  
  
"Oh, you'll do just fine. But in case anything goes wrong I'll make sure your foster parents have my number on hand."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"Thank you, Dr. Murphy," Mrs. Higgins said, shaking his hand. "You've taken great care of him. And I'll put your number in his pertinent information file before I give it to the MacCaffries."  
  
"Who are they?" Richie asked.  
  
"They're who you'll be moving in with this Thursday."  
  
"Where do they live?"  
  
"We'll get into that later, Richard. Right now I have to see Dr. Murphy out and check on the other kids."  
  
"Right." Richie rolled back over onto his back. He was getting brushed off...again. It wasn't as if his injuries were life threatening, but it would have been nice to have someone tell him what they hell they had planned for him on Thursday.  
  
He was surprised to hear the door on the far side of the room open so soon after Mrs. Higgins and Dr. Murphy had left.  
  
"Richie?" Tamara asked softly. "Are you awake?"  
  
"Of course, its day time." Richie pushed himself up and leaned against the wall. "I thought you weren't coming until tomorrow."  
  
"Well, I thought I should tell you as soon as possible about the good news."  
  
"What good news?"  
  
"I got a call today that you are going to be moved to a new foster home on Thursday."  
  
"That's good news?"  
  
Tamara smiled and pulled a chair up next to his bed. "I just came from the MacCaffries, Richie. I really think you're going to like it there."  
  
"Where is it?"  
  
"They live in a big house not very far from the beach. And they have a huge backyard with plenty of room to play ball and there's a hoop on the garage. It's even regulation height."  
  
"Wahoo," he droned.  
  
"There are plenty of boys there to play with. And they were really happy to hear that you like sports because with you there they will have enough to play four on four."  
  
"Four on four?" Richie repeated. "There are seven other people in that house?"  
  
"No, there are nine other people in that house. Seven of which are teenage boys who are looking forward to getting an eighth."  
  
"They're putting me in a home with seven other kids?" Richie asked.  
  
"Richie, the MacCaffries will be perfect for you. They specialize in teenage boys who need...special attention. Once they heard what was happening they jumped at the chance to take you."  
  
"You told them?"  
  
"Just Mr. and Mrs. MacCaffrie. The boys have no idea."  
  
"How could you tell them?"  
  
"Richie, one of them will have to be with you in court at all times."  
  
"Aren't you supposed to be there?"  
  
"I will be there when I can," she promised. "But I have other children I have to check in on. That's why this will be the perfect placement for you. He's a surgeon and she's a stay at home mom. She can stay with you in court and he'll be home not long after the boys get home from school."  
  
"Don't you think the boys will figure it out?" Richie asked. "I mean, if they're mom is always with me and we're always off somewhere and not telling them where we're going."  
  
"These boys might figure it out. But they will defiantly understand and respect your privacy."  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
"Because they're all just like you."  
  
"What do you mean?" Richie asked.  
  
"I can't tell you what happened to who, but I can tell you that the majority of them have experienced some sort of abuse in their past. You'll have plenty of sympathetic ears if you want to talk about it and plenty of people who understand if you don't."  
  
"If you're telling me all about them, how can I believe that you didn't tell them all about me?"  
  
"Because unless they tell you, save Malcolm who's their biological son, you won't be able to tell who was and who wasn't. They are all well behaved, well adjusted, normal boys. And a few months with them and you will be too. The MacCaffries are a very understanding, loving, and patient couple. They're exactly what you need."  
  
"You've only known me a week, how do you know what I need?" he asked, crossing his arms.  
  
"I've known you long enough to know that you don't like being treated like a child, you have a bit of a temper, you close yourself off, but when you get under the tough exterior you are a really nice, sweet boy."  
  
"You figured all that out by just talking to me a few hours?" Richie asked.  
  
"Well, I did have some help," Tamara admitted.  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Mr. MacLeod and Ms. Noel."  
  
"You've talked to them?" Richie asked.  
  
"Would you like to?"  
  
"I don't think they want to talk to me," Richie mumbled picking at his blanket. "Not after the way I acted last time I saw them."  
  
"Really? Then why would they be waiting outside to talk to you?" Tamara asked with a smile.  
  
"They're here?" Richie perked up considerably.  
  
"They've been wanting to check on you. Do you think it would be okay if I let them come in?"  
  
"Yeah!"  
  
A few minutes later Duncan and Tessa were by his side and Tamara promised to be right outside the door if they needed anything.  
  
"How are you doing?" Tessa asked.  
  
"I'm okay," Richie answered, suddenly getting very shy.  
  
"You look at lot better," Duncan told him.  
  
'Thanks."  
  
"I hear you've started a bit of a growth spurt," he continued. "Half an inch since we last saw you?"  
  
Richie smiled and blushed. "Almost."  
  
"I think you have a good three inches left in you," Duncan told him, noting the boy's embarrassed pleasure at the attention.  
  
"Why does everybody keep saying that?"  
  
"Have you seen your feet, Rich? They're huge," he teased.  
  
"It's not my fault," Richie protested.  
  
Tessa smiled. "No. But boys are like puppies; they have to grow into their feet. And you could probably wear Duncan's shoes. So, you're going to be around his height."  
  
"Is that really how it works?"  
  
Duncan grinned at him. "Why do you think teenage boys are so klutzy? They're all feet."  
  
"Can we change the subject?" Richie asked. "I don't know how much longer I can talk about my feet without feeling like an idiot."  
  
"Okay. What do you want to talk about?" Tessa asked, impulsively straightening his covers.  
  
"You aren't mad at me, are you?" he asked shyly. "I mean, after what I did at the police station..."  
  
"Should we be mad?" she asked.  
  
"I would be. I was a total jerk. Just because I couldn't get my way I acted like a total baby."  
  
"Richie, you were under a lot of stress," Tessa told him. "You had to take it out on someone."  
  
"We know you didn't mean it, Rich," Duncan added. "You were stressed, tired, and scared. Sometimes our emotions get the best of us." He put his hand on Richie's knee. "I can't tell you how many times I've said or done things I regretted because I was under pressure."  
  
"Richie, are you okay? Do you want us to call the nurse?" Tessa asked when she noticed Richie was crying. "Are you hurt?"  
  
"No," he sniffed. "It's these stupid pills they keep giving me...they make me act funny." The truth was, while his medication did seem to play around with his emotions, he wasn't used to adults not only understanding him but getting down on his level and admitting that they've made the same mistakes. He had been raised in a world of "do as I say, not as I do". This "hey we all make mistakes" stuff was a bit overwhelming at times.  
  
"So, what have to been up to?" Duncan asked looking at the pile of books, magazines and papers on his night stand. "Writing the great American novel?"  
  
"Naw, just reading. The only thing I can do in here."  
  
"Well, you'll be out and about soon enough."  
  
"Thursday."  
  
"What's Thursday?" Tessa asked.  
  
"I'm moving."  
  
"Where?"  
  
"They won't tell me."  
  
**##PRESENT 1994##**  
  
"Hey!" Richie stepped back. "What do you think you're doing?"  
  
"Relax, Richie. I just wanted to give you this." He pulled out an envelope. "That should cover all the child support checks I never spent on you. And there's a little extra for the birthday and Christmas presents I never gave you."  
  
Richie was at a loss for what to say. So far this meeting had yet to go the slightest bit the way he had expected it. He wasn't even sure what he had been expecting, but an apology and a check were nowhere near the list.  
  
"Hopefully now we're a bit more even."  
  
Richie snatched the envelope out of Jonathan's hand. "Even? You think a few bucks is going to make us even?"  
  
"A little more than we were before. Richie, I know there isn't anything I can do to make this up to you. I made your life hell for almost a year and a half. For no reason other than I couldn't control my anger and addictions. But I'm clean and sober and I plan on continuing to be from here on out."  
  
"Fat lotta good that does me," Richie snapped.  
  
"There's nothing I can do to make this just the slightest bit right for you, is there?"  
  
"Short of going back in time and stopping yourself, no."  
  
"I can't do that."  
  
"Then I guess you can't do anything."  
  
"Tell me how you really feel," Jonathan quipped.  
  
"I don't think you want that," Richie warned him.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Duncan was surprised to see Richie sitting, quietly on the couch staring at their on going chess game when he got home from Joe's. Richie usually took off for parts unknown when he got upset.  
  
"Rich? You okay?" Duncan asked.  
  
"I guess," he mumbled.  
  
"How did it go?"  
  
"I'm surprised you weren't hiding in the bushes somewhere."  
  
"Joe talked me out of it."  
  
Richie cracked a smile. "Figures."  
  
"What happened? Did you get to tell him off?"  
  
"Yup."  
  
"What did you tell him?"  
  
"That his decaying carcass wasn't fit to be eaten by starving sewer rats in a third world country," Richie reported.  
  
"Are you serious?"  
  
"Practically word for word."  
  
"What did he say to that?" Duncan sat down next him on the couch.  
  
"He agreed with me...stupid jerk."  
  
Duncan had heard the extent of Richie's explicit vocabulary. 'Stupid jerk' was not what he had expected to hear when Richie talked about Jonathan Cooper.  
  
"He agreed with you?"  
  
"It was so weird, Mac. He agreed with every rotten thing I said about him. He said he didn't deserve for me to forgive him."  
  
"Well, for the first time I agree with him," Duncan said. "He doesn't deserve much of anything as far as I'm concerned."  
  
"Him too!" Richie blurted. "It was awful! I had all these things planned out to tell him. I was gonna finally tell him off and really let him have it. But he made it impossible."  
  
"How?"  
  
"Because he just sat there and agreed with everything! He was like this perfect, calm....stupid jerk! I knew I was mad at him and I still am, it was just hard to tell him when he was just standing there taking it."  
  
"What did you want him to do, Rich? Get mad and start hitting you?"  
  
"I'm just saying it would have been easier if he had... if he hadn't... I don't know. I'm so confused. I know Jonathan Cooper. I lived with him for sixteen months. That wasn't him!"  
  
"So he really did change?" Duncan asked.  
  
"He was...nice," Richie said in disgust.  
  
"Well, are you really surprised?"  
  
"Wadaya mean?"  
  
"Where did they send him?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"What prison did they send him to?" Duncan prompted.  
  
"The state pen in Cliffston. You know that."  
  
"I also know it is on the top ten list for the most violent prisons in the country."  
  
"So? He deserved it," Richie insisted.  
  
"Look at the statistics, Rich. Who gets attacked most frequently in prisons?"  
  
"The cute blondes... at least that's what everyone always told me."  
  
"Okay, I'll give you that," Duncan said. "But I mean violently."  
  
Richie thought about it. "You got me," he shrugged.  
  
"The ones who hurt kids."  
  
"How do you figure?"  
  
"It's a statistic, Richie."  
  
"You're telling me in a building full of murderers, rapists and psychos they gang up on the guy who beat up his kid?"  
  
"I think it makes perfect sense," Duncan said as he got up and headed to the kitchen.  
  
"You gonna let me in on your line of logic?" Richie got up and followed him, taking a seat on one of the bar stools.  
  
"How many people in prison do you think were beaten up by their parents at some time?" He searched the refrigerator for something to make for dinner.  
  
Richie shrugged. "Majority, I guess."  
  
"And how happy do you think they are to give an innocent kid some prison yard justice for something their own parents got away with?" He opened up the freezer.  
  
"They get their personal revenge by avenging a stranger?"  
  
"Exactly." There was no food in the loft. "Do you want to go out and get some dinner?"  
  
Richie grinned. "Check the script, Mac. That's my line."  
  
Duncan chuckled. "We can still talk about Jonathan if you have more to say. I'm not trying to shut you up."  
  
"Sure you aren't."  
  
"I just haven't eaten all day. I've been too anxious."  
  
Richie got up off his stool and headed to the coat rack. "I was the one who had to meet him."  
  
"I was the one with no idea what was happening while you were gone." Duncan put on his coat.  
  
"You're such a mother, MacLeod."  
  
"I'm sorry if I worry about you sometimes," Duncan said. "But I think I've earned the right to."  
  
"There's one more thing, Mac," Richie said, as Duncan opened the lift grate.  
  
"What?"  
  
"This." He handed him the envelope.  
  
Duncan quirked an eyebrow, then opened it up. "Rich... this is a cashier's check for almost eight thousand dollars."  
  
"I know."  
  
"Where did you get this?"  
  
"Jonathan. It's back child support."  
  
"What are you going to do with it?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
**##PAST 1992##**  
  
Richie hated not knowing what was happening to him. That was the worst part of being a foster child. You got moved to new homes with little to no warning. And you never knew where you were going until you got there. Richie watched out the window as the nondescript government issue sedan drove him to his new foster home.  
  
This was defiantly a much nicer part of town than they usually took him to. There were houses instead of dilapidated apartment buildings, huge green lawns separated the houses, and there were kids out in the streets playing ball and rollerblading.  
  
"I'm going to live here?" Richie asked as the car pulled to a stop in front of a large, red brick near mansion.  
  
"Until the trial is over," Tamara told him helping him get his bag out of the trunk.  
  
"Do I have to?"  
  
"I promise, Richie, you'll like it here." Tamara smoothed back a stray curl from Richie's face.  
  
"What if they don't like me?"  
  
"Just be yourself and you'll fit in like perfectly. Are you ready?" Richie nodded. "Okay. Time to meet your new parents." Tamara rang the door bell. 


	9. Headcase

AN: Sorry guys. I went on vacation for a week and then when I got back my computer got screwy. At first we thought it was a virus and then we found out my system was unstable. So we got it fixed. And then there was a question about the billing. And then was messed up. I'm am really really sorry it took so long. Probably one more chap to go!

**##PAST 1992##**

Richie stood anxiously on the doorstep next to Tamara. He could hear people inside speaking softly and moving around inside.

"Maybe they changed their mind?" he suggested hopefully.

Tamara smiled at him. "I highly doubt it. They're very excited to meet you."

On cue, the door opened and a nice, middle aged couple stood on the other side.

"Hi, Richie," the woman greeted warmly. "I'm Mrs. MacCaffrie. You can call me Judith." She stepped toward him and gave him a gentle hug.

"I'm Bryan," the man added, offering his hand. "We're really glad you decided to come stay with us."

"I had a choice?" Richie mumbled, noticeably ignoring the extended hand.

"We like to pretend you do," Bryan returned. "Won't you two come in?" The couple stepped aside and Bryan took Richie's bag from him.

"The boys are still in school so you'll get a little bit to adjust before the tornado hits," Judith smiled. "I made us all some lemonade." She gestured at the pitcher and glasses on the coffee table.

The living room was nothing Richie had ever seen before. Well, nothing he'd seen in person. It looked like a page out of the Pottery Barn catalogue. There were two large, overstuffed camel leather couches, with matching armchair. The coffee table was a large square, with a cushioned top, upholstered in a deep burgundy fancy looking fabric. There was an oversized fireplace across from the couches with pictures of dozens of different boys on the mantel.

Bryan put Richie's bag next to the secretary's desk and went to pour the lemonade for Judith to hand around.

"That was very thoughtful of you," Tamara said, nudging Richie.

"Yeah, thanks."

Judith smiled at him. "You're welcome."

"Sit, sit," Bryan instructed. Richie sat in the armchair, successfully closing himself off to any contact. Bryan, Judith and Tamara seemed completely unfazed by his move. "So, Richie. Tell us about yourself."

"Don't you have a file for that?"

"Well, I'd rather hear your take on it. No offence, Tamara, but those aren't always right or up to date."

"Go ahead, Richie," Tamara prompted.

Richie shrugged. "Um...I dunno."

"Well, do you play any sports?" Judith asked. "The boys are really hoping to make the teams even."

"Yeah, sure."

"What kind of food do you like?"

"Anything."

Judith smiled and leaned forward to put her hand on his knee. "I think you are going to fit right in."

"I don't know how long the others are going to let you be shy and quiet," Bryan told him. "With seven boys in the house, it gets pretty loud and crazy. I bet you'll get swept up into it before Tamara's next visit."

"Speaking of visits," Tamara started, standing up. "I have a few to make. I'll just leave you three to get acquainted. Richie, I'll be back in a week. You behave, okay?"

"I think I left something in the car!" Richie blurted, jumping to his feet.

"No, you didn't."

"I think I did."

"Richie, I'm on to you. You didn't leave anything in the car. Now, stay here."

"It never hurts to check," Judith cut in. "We'll go make sure."

Judith gestured Richie out the front door and followed him to the car. They checked the trunk, the back seat, the front seat and under the seats. There was nothing of Richie's.

"Okay, Richie, in a week," Tamara promised him. "I really think you're going to like it here."

"See ya," Richie mumbled as Judith took him gently by the arm and led him back into the large house.

"I suppose we should show you around."

Judith and Bryan took Richie around the house showing him the chore list and where to put his grocery requests. The backyard was huge, bigger than the park behind his old apartments. There was a soccer goal by the fence, a pitching net a few feet away, a basketball hoop over the garage, a tree house in the large oak tree in the back corner of the yard and a large pile of bicycles by the back door.

"Those are first come first serve. There are too many drivers and not enough cars," Bryan explained. "So those get used a lot. Just tell us where you are going and when you'll be back."

Richie nodded.

Next they went upstairs and Richie was shown the game room. There was a pingpong/fooseball table, a large pile of board games, two video game systems, and a whole bookcase full of videos for the big screen TV.

"This is all communal property. Don't let anyone tell you, you can't use something," Judith informed him.

Next door to the game room was the bathroom.

"Are you a morning or night showerer?"

"Morning."

"Okay, that gives you ten minutes to get ready for bed at night and twenty minutes in the morning. It's first come first serve and we trust you to keep your own time," Bryan told him. "Sound fair?"

Richie shrugged.

Judith and Bryan exchanged a look. Richie was going to be as difficult as they had expected. But all the boys they got were difficult. That was their specialty. They had helped 15 boys over the years. They weren't going to let Richie be any different.

"Let's show you your room."

Richie was taken down the hall and showed into a decent sized room. The walls were covered in posters of cars, sports teams and girls in bikinis. There were three twin beds crammed up against one of the walls. All with camouflage comforters and green pillows.

"This one is yours," Judith sat on the middle bed. "You'll be sharing a room with Jake and Collin. Jake is 16; Collin is 20."

Richie nodded.

"Moo-oom!" a few boys yelled from down stairs. "Dad! We're home!"

"I'll take care of the army," Bryan volunteered. "You talk to Richie."

"Make sure they save something for Richie!" Judith called after him. "I'm sure he's hungry, too."

Richie heaved a great sigh and stood awkwardly by the dresser.

"Well, how are you feeling, Richie?"

Richie shrugged and stared at Cindy Crawford across the room.

"I know this place is a bit imposing and then you add all the people and it can get pretty overwhelming. But, everyone here is really nice. And I really do think that you'll like it here."

"Whatever."

"Ah, dismissal. Richie, I think we need to have a little chat. Come here and sit down." She patted the bed beside her. "I don't bite," she added at Richie's hesitation. Careful to look uninterested, Richie took a seat. "Are you okay?"

"I guess."

"You don't sound very okay."

"What are you? A shrink or something?"

"I do have my masters in child psychology," Judith admitted.

"Great, I'm officially a head case."

"No, you're not. You just need a positive life experience to show you the world isn't only made up of what you've been given."

Richie looked away and examined a push pin hole in the wall above his new bed.

"You look like you want some alone time." Judith got up and put her hand on his shoulder. Richie sucked in a deep breath. "I'll tell the boys to leave you alone until dinner. Sound good?"

Richie grunted.

"Good. Dinner will be ready in about two hours."

**##PRESENT 1994##**

"So, Rich, you get your closure?" Duncan asked over desert. Dinner had been quite and mostly small talk. But Duncan was sick of stalling. He wanted to see how it all worked out.

"You just want to hear me say you were right," Richie mumbled around a mouthful of cheesecake.

"Was I?"

"I haven't decided yet."

"How's that?"

Richie speared a strawberry. "I haven't decided how this all worked out."

"What's left to decide?"

"Lots of stuff. The whole thing was so weird. I still haven't digested it all yet. It doesn't feel like it really happened."

"Well," Duncan took a sip of his coffee. "I suppose the only thing that really matters is that all the damage he did has been fixed and is unnoticeable."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Richie asked, putting his fork down.

"Whoa, I didn't mean to offend you," Duncan apologized. "I just meant that it's in the past."

"Do you really have to talk about me like that?"

"Like what?"

Richie shook his head. "Nothing, I'm fine. Just... what were you saying?"

"I didn't mean to make you mad."

"Don't worry about it."

"Rich..."

"Seriously, I'm cool. I don't know set me off. Just, continue."

"I don't even remember what I was saying."

He smirked. "That makes two of us. So, wadaya wanna do tonight?"

Duncan eyed Richie for a minute. "Are you sure you're not mad at me?"

"Yes."

He leaned back in his chair and sighed. "I don't know. Do you want to rent a movie? Get some popcorn?"

"Not really."

"Do you want to take a walk?"

"Naw."

"Go to a movie?"

"No."

"Hit a club."

"I don't think so."

Duncan sighed and shook his head. "Do you want to hide in your room and be antisocial?"

"No, I wanna do something."

"Then you suggest something."

"I don't know what I wanna do."

"Well, when you decide, tell me."

Richie shook his head and went back to the remainder of his cheesecake. "Whatever."

**. . . . . .**

Duncan pulled the gate of the lift closed. "Great idea, Rich."

"What?"

"Wasn't renting a movie the first thing I suggested?"

"It didn't sound like a good idea then."

"Of course not."

"Don't pull that diva crap on me, MacLeod."

"Diva?"

"You're getting all huffy and prissy. Stop it!" Richie laughed.

"Prissy?"

"Yes."

"Me?"

"Yeah, you. You're being prissy."

"I am not!"

"Yes, you are!" Richie argued with a smile. "You're mad because I shot down your idea and then later on decided to go with it. It's still your idea, just recycled."

Duncan tried to scowl and look angry, but he couldn't help but grin. "You just wanted to feel in charge."

"Great Dr. MacLeod makes a not so rare appearance."

"Now who's being a diva?"

The lift stopped. "What? I've already had my turn living with a shrink. And at least she had a degree." Richie lifted the gate and led the way into the loft. "You just like to think you do."

"Trust me. I've been around you to have earned a doctorate in Richie psychology."

"You really think I'm that easy to figure out?"

"No, I think you're that complicated to figure out."

"What?"

"Just make the popcorn; I'll set up the movie."

Rolling his eyes, Richie went into the kitchen and put the tub of popcorn in the microwave. "You want butter?" he called into the living room.

"Just make it how you like it," Duncan answered as the phone rang. "Can you get that?"

"Yup." Richie picked up the receiver. "Yeee-llow."

"Richie, is that you?" a voice on the other line asked.

"Yeah, who's this?" Richie asked. Duncan glanced over from the couch.

"This is Judith MacCaffrie."

"Oh! Geeze, hey, how are you doing?"

"I'm doing fine, Richie. Bryan and I just heard on the news about Mr. Cooper. How are you doing?"

Richie smiled and rolled his eyes. "I'm fine. I actually saw him today."

'Who is it?' Duncan mouthed from the couch.

'Judith,' Richie mouthed back. "Really, it wasn't all that bad. We talked."

"And?" Judith prompted.

"And then I left."

"Do you need to talk?"

Richie laughed. "No. I'm fine. Besides Mac kinda has the monopoly on that anyway."

"Do you still live with him?"

"Not for much longer. I'm looking for my own place."

"What happened to the antique store? I called and the man there gave me this number."

"We, uh, sold it. Mac has a dojo now. I'm kinda like a manager."

"That sounds like a good job. Do you like it?"

"Yeah, I do. It's not a life's ambition or anything. But it's perfect for now."

"Have you thought about going to college any more?"

"You know, I already got that lecture this week. And the answer is still no."

"Okay, fair enough. You won't get a lecture from me. How is everything else going? Do you have a girlfriend?"

Richie chuckled. "Nothing steady. How's everything with you guys? Got any new head cases?"

"You know very well we don't think any of our boys are head cases."

"I was and you know it."

**##PAST 1992##**

"Well?" Judith asked, coming out of the bathroom and toweling off her hair.

"Collin is working on his astronomy paper and the last of the boys are in bed," Bryan told her.

"How's Richie doing?"

"He's in bed. Still really quiet. But I think that talk with the boys is working. They're all being really nice to him. They tried to get him in on a ping pong tournament. They tried to get him to talk about his favorite teams. They tried to get him to play that race game on the Atari. They tried to get him to do anything."

"And he sat in the corner all night, didn't he?"

"Close, the window seat in the game room."

Bryan took off his robe and got into bed. "He's going to be a tough case to crack."

"We just need him to open up to one person here." Judith crawled in next to him and put her head on his shoulder.

"Preferably you."

"Or Collin."

"That's why you had Peter change rooms. So Richie would be with Collin. Very clever."

"I just thought that putting Richie with Collin would be a good idea. Similar situations. And Collin gets along with anyone. If anyone gets Richie to open up, it will be him."

They snuggled down under the blankets and were drifting off to sleep where there was a soft knock on the door.

"Maybe Richie wants to talk," Judith sat up. "Come in."

"Hey, guys." Collin pushed the door open. "Um, I don't mean to alarm you, but isn't Richie supposed to sleep in my room?"

"He's in there," Bryan said. "I said good night to him and Jake. They went to bed at eleven."

"He's not in there."

"I was just in there." Bryan got out of bed and put his robe on. "Are you sure he isn't in the bathroom?"

"I checked."

"Then where could he be?"

"Maybe you just missed him," Judith suggested hopefully putting on her robe as well.

The three of them trooped down the hall to check. Richie's bed was empty.

"Bryan, where could he have gone?" Judith asked.

"What's going on?" Jake asked sleepily.

"I'll wake the other boys up," Collin said. "We can cover more ground."

"Don't worry, Judith," Bryan said, putting his arms around Judith. "We'll find him. He couldn't have gotten far."


	10. Courtdate

AN: when I change locations within one scene (namely the search for Richie) I used to separate it. Got it? Good! Here we go!

AN2: More chaps coming. not done yet! if you can't get a review through, please send it to 

"Anyone find anything?" Bryan asked anxiously as he, Judith, Collin and Jake gathered in the living room.

"Not in the garage."

"Not in the basement."

"Not upstairs."

"Not downstairs."

"Where is he?" Judith wondered. "Are all the bikes here?"

"I'll go look," Jake volunteered.

"Where's Richie's file?" Judith asked. "Where did you put it, Bryan?"

"In the office, with all the others. Why?"

"There was a business card in there. For the people that he used to work for. Maybe he went there."

"I'll go call. They can at least be on the look out for him." Bryan went into the office and found Richie's file. He dialed the number on the business card for MacLeod and Noel Antiques.

"MacLeod," a voice groggily answered.

"Is this Duncan MacLeod?" Bryan asked.

"Yes. Who is this?"

"My name is Bryan MacCaffrie. I'm Richie Ryan's foster father."

"Is anything wrong?" Duncan asked.

"Not really," Bryan answered playing with the phone cord. "But he isn't with you by any chance?"

"No. Is he missing?"

"He's not in his room. We can't find him. Do you know where he might be?"

"He might be on his way here," Duncan admitted. "I have a few other ideas, too. Look, give me your address. We'll leave him a note here to call you and see if we can't find him on the way to your place."

"Do you see anything?" Duncan asked as he drove slowly down the streets toward the MacCaffries' home. They had already checked the dugouts where he had found Richie that first night.

"No one is out here," Tessa said. "It's freezing."

"He's somewhere."

"It's a big city, Duncan. He's only one boy. He could be anywhere."

Collin and Jake rode their bikes down the street to the north of their own.

"Man, what a night to run away. Couldn't he at least give us a chance?" Jake groaned. "I mean, he was only there for a few hours."

"Hey, he's nervous. Maybe you should give him a chance," Collin said. "Let's check the bike path."

They turned their bikes along the small path that wove its way through the neighborhood.

Judith drove up and down the alleyways peering into all the driveways and side yards.

"Where are you, Richie?"

Bryan jumped when there was a soft knock on the front door. He threw it open, to reveal and young, disheveled couple.

"Mr. MacLeod?" Bryan asked.

"Duncan. Is he here?"

Bryan sighed as he stepped aside for them to get in. "No. I was hoping he was with you."

"We didn't see him on the way. Where all have you looked?" Tessa asked.

"All over the house. Judith has one of the cars and I have two boys out on bikes. We're letting the younger ones sleep."

"Where can we look?" Tessa offered. "We'll stay until he's found."

Bryan sighed again. "We have Tamara on the look out. If we don't find him in another hour, we're going to call the police."

"I'm sure that won't make him run," Duncan said sarcastically. "Our best bet is that he's headed to our place. Why don't Tessa and I take a back route home. And we'll call when we make it back. If he's still not here, we'll try something else."

"All right," Bryan agreed. "Here's our number." He scribbled it on a piece of paper laying on the table. "If he's there when you get back, don't bring him home; we'll come get him."

"Of course," Tessa agreed. "He's somewhere. Someone will find him."

"Thank you. I'll call you if he shows up."

Duncan and Tessa set back out to search.

**. . . . . .**

"No, thank you, Duncan," Bryan said into the phone twenty minutes later. "I'm about to call the police. This is getting ridiculous. I'll call you when we find him. Thank you again. Yes, bye."

"No sighting," Jake announced coming into the front door with Collin right behind him. "We looked all over the neighborhood and froze our butts off."

Bryan sighed. "Alright, thank you for helping, boys. Go on back to bed. I'm going to call the police when Judith gets back."

He had begun to pace the floor when he heard someone behind him. "Judi-Richie?"

Richie stood in the entrance to the living room, wrapped in a blanket, a sleepy look on his face. "What's goin' on?" he asked.

"Where have you been?" Bryan asked.

Richie paused. "In bed."

"Sit down." Richie did as he was told. "Where were you?"

"I already told you, in bed. I woke up, heard someone down here and wanted to know what was going on."

"You want to know what was going on?" Bryan exploded. Richie jumped and shrunk back into the couch. "I've been up for hours on the phone with half the city trying to figure out where you had gone off to. You weren't in your bed, we looked. Now where were you?"

"I was outside!" Richie admitted quickly. "Honest, I was in the tree house. I couldn't sleep so I went out back to get some air and I put on my headphones and I musta fell asleep. I didn't do anything wrong! I swear, I didn't!"

"You were in the tree house?" Bryan asked.

"Yeah."

"This whole time we've been worried sick about you, trying to figure out where the hell you had run off to and you were just outside in the backyard?"

"I'm in trouble, aren't I?" Richie asked, quietly.

"Oh yeah. I know in your last home you got away with a lot..."

"I didn't get away with anything!"

"Well, I know that things were inconsistent there. That's not how we run things here. Here you follow the rules. When you're told you have an eleven o'clock bed time, you're in bed by eleven o'clock. That means under the covers, lights out, no little trips to the back yard. You understand?"

Richie concentrated on the floor. "Yes, sir."

"You had us worried half to death! We had no idea where you were!" Bryan continued yelling. "We didn't know if you were hurt, or in trouble, or worse! All we knew was you weren't where you were supposed to be!"

"I'm sorry," Richie whimpered.

"Rich..." Bryan reached out and put his hand on Richie's shoulder.

"No!" Richie screamed and jerked away. "Don't touch me! I didn't do anything wrong!"

"Richie."

"Leave me alone! I didn't do anything wrong!" Richie yelled. He jumped to his feet and tried to runaway and ended up cornering himself behind a recliner. "Don't touch me!" he begged. "Please, don't hurt me. I'll do whatever you want!"

"Richie, calm down," Bryan soothed. "It's okay."

"No! Don't! Please, Jonathan, leave me alone!" Richie pushed Bryan away and ran to the fireplace. "Stay away from me!" He grabbed the fire poker. "I swear I'll do it! Leave me alone!"

"Richie," Bryan put his hands up and backed away. "Put that down. You're going to hurt someone."

"No!" He swung the iron poker.

"Richie, put that down! Now!"

"Bryan?" Judith asked from the front door. "What's going on?"

"He's having a flashback. We have to get the fire poker away from him."

"Richie," Judith said softly. "Richie, listen to me." She slowly approached him. "It's Judith. Everything's okay. You can put that down."

"No! He's gonna hit me! Tell him I didn't do anything wrong!"

"Richie, no one said you did. We were worried about you. We couldn't find you. We didn't know where you were or what had happened. Now put that down. You don't want to get hurt do you?"

"He will! He'll hit me if I put it down!"

"Richie, please."

"Stay away!" he screamed swinging the poker.

Bryan came up from behind him and threw grabbed his arms. "Richie! Snap out of it!"

"Lemme go!" Richie tried to swing the poker.

"Get that away from him!" Bryan yelled.

"What's going on?" a forth voice asked.

"Collin, get out of here," Judith ordered. She grabbed the fire poker from a momentarily distracted Richie.

"No!" he screamed. "Let me go! Please! Don't!"

Judith put her hand over his mouth to stifle him. "Richie, Richie, look at me. You're okay. No one here is going to hurt you." Richie looked up at her, tears in his eyes. "Do you know where you are?" He nodded. She moved her hand. "You're okay. Bryan, let him go." She reached out and Richie grabbed her around the waist and buried his head in her shoulder. "There you go," she whispered rubbing his head with one hand and rubbing his back with the other. "Just let it all out. Everything's okay now."

Bryan put his hand on her shoulder, silently taking his leave, taking Collin with him. "Let's do damage control with the boys. Just tell them everything is okay, no one is hurt and to stay in their rooms and go back to bed."

"Sure."

Judith held onto Richie for over half and hour as he cried into her shoulder. Slowly he pulled away, sniffling and whipping at his cheeks.

"There we go," she whispered letting him go, but still running her fingers through his hair. "I think we need to have a little talk."

"I'm sorry, Judith," Richie said, hoarsely. "I didn't mean to hurt anyone."

"You didn't," she assured him. "But you sure gave us a scare."

"I didn't mean to fall asleep out there. I just needed some space."

"I understand that. But that wasn't what I was talking about. I want you to tell me what happened just now. What was going on?"

"I don't know. It's all jumbled up."

"Can you just tell me what you remember? Maybe we can make sense out of it together."

Together they sat on the floor in front of the fireplace and talked out what had happened from Richie's prospective. They figured out that Bryan yelling at him and then reaching for him was what set off the flashback. When Bryan had reached for him, Richie had assumed he was going to hit him and when he got chased into the corner he had panicked and saw Jonathan, not Bryan, trying to coax him out into the room.

"What are we going to do about this?" Judith asked after they had talked through it all.

"I don't know."

"Well, the easiest way to avoid getting yelled at is to stay out of trouble. But, let's face it, a seventeen-year-old boy living in a house with seven other boys is going to get into some kind of trouble. So what are we going to do?"

"You yell at me?" Richie suggested.

"It's a possibility, but what if I'm not home. What then?"

"I don't know."

"Well, that will be something we'll have to think about. We need to come up with some sort of solution for this, because next time someone could get hurt. And I know that wasn't your intention. You were just trying to defend yourself, but next time we might not get so lucky."

"Okay."

"So, is there anything else you want to talk about? Girls, sports, cars, anything?" she offered.

"Not really."

"Okay then." She stood up and gave Richie a hand up as well. "Why don't you go upstairs and wash your face and get cleaned up. I'll be up in a few minutes to check on you, okay?"

Richie nodded. "Okay."

**. . . . . .**

Judith decided that she and Richie should talk three times a week at least. So, they set up a time when the boys were at school to talk and work through his anger, aggression, resentment and any other negative feelings before they manifested themselves in another violent out burst.

Their talks really seemed to help and Richie adjusted to life at the MacCaffries rather quickly. In just a few weeks time, he could be found in the middle of a dog pile in the backyard, wrestling for the remote, or fighting over whether a pitch was a strike or not. He even warmed up nicely to Bryan, who did his best to keep his distance unless Richie instigated any sort of physical contact. There were a few nightmares, but other than that everything was just fine.

He seemed genuinely happy...until the trial started to be brought up. He had to go to meetings with his lawyer, which he found very unpleasant. He didn't like having to divulge every little thing that happened to him. He didn't like that Judith and Tamara were both there to hear every detail. And he didn't like that all the boys at the house could tell what was going on. They'd already figured out he had a court date.

"If you end up here, at one point or another, you'll have a court date," Collin explained when Richie asked how everyone figured it out. "Sometimes it's a custody hearing, sometimes it's suing your parent, sometimes it's to see if you're going to end up in juvie."

"What about you?" Richie asked. "Sorry," he immediately backpedaled. "I don't need to know. It's none of my business."

"Mine was to see if my mom was a fit mother. Obviously she lost," Collin told him.

"I'm sorry, man." Richie sat down on his bed.

"Don't be. She was crazy." Collin sat on his across from Richie.

"Really?"

"Yeah. She thought the government was spying on us."

"A lot of people think that. And if you're a foster kid, you know that."

Collin smiled. "Let me put this into prospective. We didn't have a phone or a TV or a radio. We had a generator so that there were no wires to tap. She searched the house from top to bottom everyday looking for microphones. She used to hide me under the bed for days at a time. She was a nut case. They don't even think I was her real kid."

"Like what, she kidnapped you?"

"I don't know. I remember doing a DNA test when I was nine but they said they were 'inconclusive'. I think they're still working on it."

"Wow." They sat in silence for a while until Richie blurted out: "My foster father beat me up."

"Really?" Collin asked. He had noticed the odd marks on Richie' back, but had never mentioned them.

"Yeah, pretty bad."

"That sucks. So he's on trial?"

"Yup... you aren't gonna tell anyone, are you?"

"No. Around here, we don't talk about each others' pasts. Your secret's safe."

Richie nodded. "Thanks."

**. . . . . .**

"Put this over your head," Judith said, handing Richie a coat.

"What?" Richie asked, looking at Tamara in the front seat of the car.

"It's so people can't take pictures of you," Tamara explained. "Unless you want the whole city to know who you are."

Richie did as he was told as the car drove past the front of the courthouse and a pack of news crews and tabloid photographers rushed up to the street yelling questions and taking pictures of the car.

"We're almost there," Judith said encouragingly as she put her arm around his shoulders. "When the car stops, I'll get out first and then come let you out. Don't get out on your own. They have a back entrance set up for us and no one should be able to see you, but just in case, keep yourself covered, okay?"

Richie nodded under the jacket.

"Okay..." The car pulled to a stop. "Here we go."

Richie heard two car doors open and close then someone opened the door next to him.

"Come on out," he heard Tamara say.

He struggled his way out of the back seat, which was not easy to do with a jacket over his head and the two women escorted him into the courthouse.

"We're all clear."

Richie took the jacket off his head and followed Tamara and Judith as they were escorted to the judge's chambers to await the start of the trial. They had been alone in the dark cherry wood room for twenty minutes when Mr. Marshall, his lawyer, came in.

"Hey, Richie," Mr. Marshall greeted. "How are you feeling?"

Richie shrugged. "Okay, I guess."

"We're scheduled to start in about fifteen minutes. I know we've been through this, but I want to just go over all this one more time."

"Okay."

"You will be taking the stand as a witness, but not until the very last day of testimony. When you are on the stand, I want you to be perfectly honest and if you can stomach it, as graphic as you can be about what he did. We really need these people to understand exactly what happened. I'm going to ask you questions as plainly as I can, but the defense will probably try to twist your words to make what happened a much smaller deal than it was. They are going to try and make you look like a problem child, bring up your arrest record, your school records, your grades, anything to make you look bad. I'm not sure what angle they're going to take.

But the way I see it, they have two choices: deny that Mr. Cooper laid a hand on you and tell the jury that you could have gotten the bruises from gang fights and the like or acknowledge minimal abuse and say it was a last effort to discipline an unruly kid. What I'm going to do is make you as innocent and defenseless as possible. That means I'll be talking about how small you were at the time, how weak physically and how dependant you are. It's going to be the angel versus demon child. I need you to be the angel while in court. You sit still, don't talk out of turn, be polite to a fault, be soft spoken and as innocent as you can muster. If you feel the need to say something, you tell me and I'll do all the talking for you. You got it?"

Richie processed all the information. "I think so."

"Good." He gave him a good natured slap on the shoulder. "We all know this is in the bag. The only deliberation will be to decide a sentence."

Richie nodded.

"Are you going to be okay, Richie?" Judith asked. "You think you can handle all this?"

"Yeah. If he gets out, he can do it to another kid and then that'd be my fault," Richie said. "I want him behind bars. If I have to play the runt of the litter to do it, I will."

"Richie," Tamara cut in. "None of this is your fault. You don't hold any responsibility for his actions."

"I have to put him in jail to stop him from hitting another kid," Richie insisted. "I know what I'm doing."

Just then, the back door to the chambers opened and the court bailiff walked in. "Mr. Marshall, they're ready in the courtroom."

They all got up and filed into the courtroom to take their seats. Richie waved slightly to Duncan and Tessa who had taken seats right behind him.

"We're proud of you, Rich," Duncan whispered.

"We're right behind you," Tessa added with a wink.

"All rise," the bailiff announced. "Court is now in session, the honorable Judge Wilson Keenan presiding...."


	11. The Trial

AN: Sorry it took so long AGAIN. This time I had to move down to Houston for school and it took a bit to get the net set up in my dorm room. This is the final chap of "The Letter". I would like to take this moment to announce my hiatus from fic writing. I have a bit of a time consuming course load this semester and will not have the time to devote to a continually updated fic. I may post up a one shot here and there and I will still be writing fics. I just won't post chapter fics until I have them finished to insure timely updates.

_**##PAST 1992##**_

Richie sat quietly in his little private room waiting for Judith to return with his lunch. This was his eighth day in court and every day was the same routine. Wake up, eat breakfast, wait for the boys to leave for school, then either Tamara came and picked him and Judith up or they got in Judith's car, he hid under a coat as the reporters tried to get photographs of him, he was smuggled into his private room attached to the court room until the trial resumed. Once in the courtroom, he would sit quietly- and at times pathetically or uncomfortably- at the prosecution's table listening to testimonies from various officials, then when they recessed for lunch he was ushered back into his room and someone would run out to get him some food. Then it was back into the courtroom until they adjured for the day when he would be buried under a jacket and smuggled back into a waiting car and taken home where he pretended nothing had happened.

Today, however, was just a bit different. Prosecution was calling its witnesses. The time was swiftly approaching when he would have to tell the world his side of the story.

"Sorry it took so long, Richie," Tamara apologized coming into the room, with a polite smile for the security guard posted outside. "There was a huge line. You wanted a number seven, right?"

"Yeah."

"Good." She put the paper bag containing the burger and fries on the table in front of him. "It should still be hot. Where's Judith?"

"Bathroom." He opened the bag and unwrapped his burger.

"Ah." She sat down next to him and opened her salad. They sat in silence until Judith walked in. Once Judith sat down, and the women shared a rather meaningful looking glance, they both turned to face Richie, who was squirting a packet of ketchup onto a napkin for his French fries. "We need to talk, Richie," Tamara said, attracting his attention.

"What?" he asked, looking at the pair. He could tell something was up.

"It's about your emancipation."

"What about it?"

Tamara took a second to prepare what she was going to say. "It has been decided that you will remain a ward of the state until all of the trials are over."

"What's that mean?" Richie asked.

"It means that on your eighteenth birthday, you won't be emancipated. You will remain in state custody until the trials are over."

"But you can't do that," he insisted. "Once you're eighteen, you're done. You're out."

"Not if there's a court injunction. The child welfare officials have talked over your situation and got judicial approval to keep in you custody. Once the trials are over, you'll be released."

"And there's nothing I can do about it?"

"You could appeal," Judith told him. "But you have to have either Tamara, myself or Bryan backing you up. And we all think this is in your best interest. We agree with the decision... it was actually my idea."

"How could you do this to me?" Richie demanded, pushing roughly away from the table. "I thought you were on my side!"

"I am," she insisted. "But as long as you are a ward of the state, you are classified as a minor."

"I'm going to be eighteen in a week!" He stormed over and put his back to them, staring out the window.

"And then the press would have full access to the details of the case," Tamara explained as she guided him away from the window and back to his seat. "Richie, this way no one will know who you are. And once the trials are over they will be sealed and no one will be able to get into them to get your identity."

"It really is in your best interest, Richie," Judith said. "We're only trying to protect you."

"This is so unfair! What about the guys at home? They already know I'm in court. Don't you think this is gonna convince them that I'm the kid all over the news?"

"Richie, Collin is twenty and he still lives with us. No one thinks twice about it. We welcome all our boys to stay as long as they like. But if it bothers you that much, we just won't mention your birthday. No one will know the difference."

"This isn't fair! When you turn eighteen, it's your ticket out! How come I gotta stay?" Richie demanded.

"They're ready for you," the bailiff said, opening the door that led to the little hallway to the courtroom.

Powell was the first called to the stand on Richie's behalf.

"Detective Powell," Ms. Abbot, the defense attorney started. "How do you know Mr. Ryan?"

Powell smiled. "From work."

"Could you please clarify?"

"I've arrested him a few times."

"According to his juvenile record he has been arrested over thirteen times, is that true?"

"Yes."

"So Mr. Ryan is a criminal."

"Objection!" Mr. Marshall interrupted. "Richie is not on trial, Mr. Cooper is."

"Sustained," Judge Keenan agreed. "A new line of questioning, please."

"I just want to establish Mr. Ryan's less that spectacular past, Your Honor."

"A new line of questioning, Ms. Abbot."

"I have no further questions, then." She went back to her seat. "Your witness."

"Detective Powell," Mr. Marshall started, approaching the witness stand. "The defense has already established that Richie has an arrest record. You were involved in many of those arrests, were you not?"

"Yes, I was."

"What sort of crimes did Richie commit?"

"Misdemeanors, mostly. Petty theft, pit pocketing, joy riding."

"Did Richie ever hurt anyone?"

"No."

"Do you consider him to be a bad seed?"

"Objection!" Ms. Abbot shouted. "Your Honor this is the same line of questioning I was just prohibited from using."

"Sustained."

"I'm sorry, Your Honor." Mr. Marshall turned back to Powell. "You have a past with Richie, don't you?"

"Yes."

"What is your overall impression of him?"

Powell smiled at Richie. "He's a good kid, a little mischievous, but in the proper home environment, it's my opinion he wouldn't get in trouble."

"So, what you're saying is that Richie behavior..."

"Objection! Leading the witness."

"Over-ruled, continue."

"So, what you're saying is that, in your opinion, Richie's behavior is in direct correlation to his treatment at home?"

"I believe so, yes," Powell agreed.

"And how many times has Richie been arrested in the last sixteen months, while he was in Mr. Cooper's care?"

"I don't know off the top of my head... five, give or take a few."

"According to his record, of the fifteen times he's been arrested seven occurred while in Mr. Cooper's care. Does that sound right?"

"If it's in his file, it must be."

"And of those fifteen arrests you were involved in ten?"

"That sounds about right."

"Did you ever have to use some sort of physical force to detain him?"

"Yes. You usually have to chase him down before he lets you arrest him," Powell smiled and winked at Richie. "He makes you earn it."

"What sort of physical force have you used on him?"

"I've wrestled him to the ground, pushed him into walls, pulled him off of fences, all but sat on him to keep him on the ground and tripped him."

Mr. Marshall smiled. "And when you bring someone into the station are they not looked over for injury?"

"The minors are."

"And has Richie ever had an injury from you?"

"Only when I had to be rough with him because he wasn't cooperating."

"So you have bruised him?"

"Yes."

"Would you say you had to use a lot of force to bruise him?"

"Yes. In my experience, he doesn't bruise easily."

"Thank you, detective. That's all."

Next, Dr. Murphy took the stand. He testified that Richie's injuries most likely did not come from a gang beating or random street violence. The bruises and injuries most likely were cause by common household objects. When asked if a serving spoon and belt could have caused the injuries he replied:

"A belt could easily caused the long, thin bruises."

"Dr. Murphy, have you seen these pictures?" Mr. Marshall asked unveiling the police evidence pictures of Richie's bruised and battered back, chest, arms, legs and buttocks which were propped up on an easel so both the witness and the jury could see them. The jury let out a collective gasp at the graphic photos.

"Yes."

"Now, these bruises," he pointed out the stripes on Richie's back. "could have been caused by a belt?"

"I believe so."

"Now, could these rounder bruises be caused by this?" He held up a large metal serving spoon with a tag hanging off of it.

"With enough force, I would think so."

"By looking at Mr. Cooper, do you think he'd be able to exert the right amount of force to cause these injuries using this as a weapon?"

"Easily."

Duncan was next.

"Mr. MacLeod," Ms. Abbot nearly laughed. "You expect us to believe that an innocent child agreed to go home with a complete stranger because you offered him some food?"

"That's what happened."

"Mr. MacLeod, are you sure you didn't have anything else in mind?"

"What does that mean?"

"You have to admit, Mr. Ryan is a very nice looking young man. You had no ulterior motive when you invited him to your home for the night?"

"Objection!" Richie's screamed. "Leave him alone! He's nothing like that!"

"The prosecution will keep their client quiet!" the judge ordered.

"Richie, hush. That's my job," Mr. Marshall said quietly. Then louder. "But we do object, defamation of character."

"Sustained. Ms. Abbot?"

"After the alleged beating, why didn't you call the police?"

"I felt Richie needed some rest before he had to endure that."

"Did he tell you what happened before or after you let him rest?"

"Before."

"And how soon after the alleged beating did Mr. Ryan show up on your door step?"

"I'm not sure."

"Do you have a speculation?"

"Objection!"

"Rephrase the question, Ms. Abbot."

"Do you have an estimate?"

"Judging by how formed the bruises were, I'd say it had to have been a few hours."

"And what had he been doing in those few hours?"

"I don't know," Duncan admitted.

"Is it possible that Mr. Ryan had spent those few hours from the time the injuries were sustained to the time he sought your help making up his story?"

"I don't believe so."

"Why not?"

"Because I know Richie and he wouldn't lie about something like this."

"But, Mr. MacLeod, the very nature of your meeting suggests him could have."

"He's a petty thief, not a liar."

"A thief but not a liar, interesting. No further questions."

"Mr. MacLeod," Mr. Marshall started as he got up from his chair. "What sort of condition was Richie in when you found him that night at the little league field?"

"He seemed okay, just bored, cold and a little wet."

"What happened when you took him home?"

"I got him some dry clothes and told him to help himself to anything in the fridge."

"Then what happened?"

"I went to bed and left him to watch movies on the couch because he said he couldn't sleep in a stranger's house."

"And the next morning?"

"I woke him up and took him home."

"Did anything seem off to you while you were driving Richie home?"

"He seemed a bit jumpy, almost scared to go home."

"Did he say anything to you?"

"He did say that his father was a bit harsh on him."

"Now can you tell us how he behaved while he was working for you?"

"He's a good worker. He was very attentive and meticulous."

"When did you start to suspect that something was going on at his home?"

"The second day he came, he was stiff and had bruises on his arms. He was also hungry. I took him to breakfast and he ate a very large meal of his own before finishing mine. That afternoon, he ate a lot and that night at dinner as well."

"So is that how you paid Richie for his help? You fed him?"

"The first day. After that he got meals and twenty dollars."

"And how long a day was he helping you?"

"Ten to twelve hours, I suppose. Whenever he showed up."

"He didn't always come when he said he would?"

"No, not always."

"Did he seem different whenever he came back?"

"He was usually stiff, wore jackets inside, his collars were turned up and if I ever asked him what happened he usually had some excuse."

"But you didn't believe him?"

"No."

"And why not?"

Duncan looked at Richie. "They were very formula, predictable. He had tripped, got into a fight with a neighbor, ran into a door, fell down the stairs. I think deep down he wanted me to figure it out."

"Objection, speculation."

"Over-ruled, continue."

"Tell us what happened that night when Richie ran away after the accused beat him?"

"Objection, allegedly beat."

"Sorry, allegedly beat him," Mr. Marshall corrected.

"He showed up with bruises all over his face."

"Like the pictures?" Mr. Marshall indicated the photos on the easel.

"Yes, only not quite so pronounced, yet."

"Was he acting strangely?"

"He had his dog in his arms. He was worried that his dog was hurt."

"Not about himself?"

"No. He wanted us to help his dog."

"So what happened?"

"Tessa took Max, that was the dog's name, to the vet and I took care of Richie."

"Which is when he confessed to you what had happened?"

"After a bit of questioning, yes."

"Do you believe him?"

"I filed the complaint for him, didn't I?"

"Thank you, Mr. MacLeod. You've been a great help."

"I hope so."

Finally, it was Richie's turn.

"Mr. Ryan," Ms. Abbot started sizing the teen up. "How did you do in school?"

Richie shrugged, "Okay, I guess."

"What were your grades like?"

"Cs and Ds."

"Did you ever get into trouble?"

"Yes, ma'am," Richie said staring her straight in the eye. She was not going to wear him down.

"For what?"

"Various things."

"Fighting?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Skipping?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Stealing from other students?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"How many times have you been arrested?"

"Fifteen times arrests, no convictions."

"Have you ever purposely hurt someone?"

"When in a fight, I suppose you could call that purposefully."

"Did you ever get in trouble at home?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"What sort of punishments did you get?"

"From whom?"

Ms. Abbot smiled at him. "Did you ever deserve a punishment you got from Mr. Cooper?"

"No."

"You were never punished for being suspended from classes?"

"I was."

"So, then, you deserved it."

"I suppose."

"Did you deserve to be punished after being arrested or being brought home by a police escort?"

"Yes," Richie mumbled.

"Did you deserve to be punished for failing grades?"

"Not the way- -"

"Yes or no, Mr. Ryan."

"But..."

"Yes or no. If a student receives failing grades do the parents have a right to punish them?"

Richie looked at Mr. Marshall, who just nodded at him. "Yes."

"If a child doesn't do their chores, should there be some repercussions?"

Richie sighed. "Yes."

"If a child is careless and breaks a valuable object, is it proper for the parents to punish them?"

Richie looked at her in amazement. He had thought he was ready to be questioned, apparently he was wrong. "Yes."

"By the guidelines we just established, did you deserve a punishment the night of the alleged beating?" Richie stared at her, his mouth hanging open. "Yes or no?" Richie just shook his head and tried to gather himself. "Answer the question."

"Yes," he finally said.

"Were you punished?"

"Yes."

"Enough to make you want to run away?"

"Yes."

"Enough to decide to get back at your foster father and make up a story that he savagely beat you?"

"I didn't make it up!"

"One more question, Mr. Ryan. Is it true that you threatened your current foster parents with a fire poker, something considered a deadly weapon?"

Richie sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Yes."

Ms. Abbot smiled at him. "No further questions."

"Yes, Mr. Ryan is a nice looking young man," Ms. Abbot said as she paced in front of the jury. "Yes, someone did hurt him that night. But was it the defendant, Mr. Cooper? That is the question you have to answer. To answer that you have to ask yourself, 'Is Mr. Ryan capable of lying?' Yes, he is. 'Is there reason to suspect he might?' Yes, there is. He has an extensive juvenile record for committing crimes much more serious than lying to a few people. 'Might Mr. Ryan put himself into a position to receive a beating from anyone?' Yes. We have established that Mr. Ryan has quite the temper. He threatened his foster parents, on his first night in their custody, with an iron fire poker. For what reason? He was in trouble and he lashed out. Who's the one who should be in police custody? The young man who has been arrested fifteen times and assaulted innocent people with a deadly weapon? Or the man who was only trying to turn this troubled young man into a decent citizen?" She finished her closing argument and took her seat.

Mr. Marshall stood up and took his place in front of the jury. "Yes, Richie has a past. But if you look at where he grew up, statistically he's in the majority. Yes, he got into some trouble in school, but what boy his age hasn't?"

He took a breath. "Richie is not the one on trial here. It's Jonathan Cooper. The man accused of beating his foster son rather savagely. You've seen Richie and you've seen Mr. Cooper who is half again Richie's size."

He paused. "What you really need to ask yourself is why did Richie take a job, paying him on average two dollars an hour doing menial chores for a near stranger? It obviously wasn't the money. He could make twice that flipping burgers down the street. Maybe it was the attention; Mr. MacLeod has an obvious soft spot for the boy. Or maybe it was the food. You heard Mr. MacLeod testify that Richie had a very healthy appetite. You also heard Richie tell you that he was rarely allowed to eat in his own home. The most compelling evidence to support this accusation is his medical chart.

"According to Dr. Murphy, a licensed physician of the state, from the time Richie was placed in Mr. Cooper's care to the time he was brought back to the orphanage he had lost twelve pounds. Twelve pounds in sixteen months. All in all that isn't much. But when you take into account that Richie is at the peak growing age for males, he should have gained that weight, if not more in those months. And is it just coincidence that he's grown nearly two inches and gained twenty two pounds in the time he has been out of Mr. Cooper's care? Perhaps he lost more than those twelve pounds, but gained some of it back when Mr. MacLeod began to feed him regularly. But, how...how can such dramatic numbers be just a coincidence?

"Yes, Richie did threaten his foster parents with the fire poker. But why did he do it? You heard two people, one with a masters and the other with a doctorate in child psychology, testify that Richie was suffering from a flashback. A phenomenon typically used to describe the erratic behavior of men who have been through war. Do you think Richie, a mere boy, would know the condition accurately enough to pretend to have one? To convince two students of child behavior that, that is what happened? Or did he really go through something so traumatic that the very combination of being in trouble and a man touching him sent him into such state? And in addition to that, remember that Dr. MacCaffrie, the man who set off the reaction, testified that he distinctly remembered being called Jonathan while Richie begged him to leave him alone.

"What really happened that night? You've heard the truth. You just have to decide who said it. Think it through. Look at all the facts. You know what has to be done."

_**##PRESENT 1994##**_

"Waddaya think?" Richie asked plopping a piece of paper in front of Duncan, who was going through the day's mail.

Duncan picked up the flier and looked over all the information on the one bedroom apartment. "Looks nice. Have you seen it?"

"Yeah. I checked the place from top to bottom. I bet even you can't find something wrong with it."

"This one's a lot more expensive than the ones you've been looking at," Duncan commented. "Can you afford it?" Richie handed him another piece of paper. "You deposited the check?"

"Yup. I'm not keeping all of it, though. Just about two thousand, you know to cushion the financial situation."

"Good," Duncan smiled. "I think that's a good idea."

"Thanks."

##PAST 1992##

Jonathan Cooper was found guilty of child abuse and child neglect and sentenced to five years in prison and classes for anger management, drug and alcohol awareness and proper parenting. Connie Mankin was found guilty of child endangerment and sentenced to one year in a minimum security women's prison.

Richie stayed with the MacCaffries for two weeks after he was finally served his emancipation papers. He worked for Duncan and Tessa everyday for eight dollars an hour plus meals and lived in a motel not terribly far from the store.

"Still haven't rented that room, huh?" Richie asked one morning looking at the 'Room for Rent' sign in the front window.

"Not yet, how goes the apartment search?" Duncan asked.

"Slowly. So what's first on the list for today?"

"Have you eaten?"

"I'm fine," Richie assured him.

"Nonsense, go upstairs and Tessa will make you something."

A few minutes later, Tessa came down into the store. "Do you want some pancakes?" she asked.

"Sounds good. Just make me a few and I'll be up in a minute."

She looked at the sign in the window. "How many more people are you going to turn away before you realize that Richie's not interested?"

"As many as it takes."

Duncan ended up finding a way to disinterest people until one rainy day Richie finally caved.

"How much are you asking?" he asked, plopping the sign on Duncan's desk.

"You're soaked, Rich. What happened?"

"The bus stop is two blocks away. Are you gonna answer me?"

"Let's get you dry first."

So upstairs they went, where, just like the first night they really met, Duncan got Richie a clean pair of sweats to change into.

"Tessa, Richie's interested in renting our room," Duncan said nonchalantly over hot cocoa as the three gathered around the kitchen table.

"Really?" Tessa asked, trying to sound nonchalant as well. "Well, I think that's a great idea. This way we won't have to worry about him getting sick every time it rains."

"And we won't feel bad if we end up keeping him busy sort of late."

"And I can sleep in cause it won't take me so long to get to work," Richie added. "I mean, that is, if I can afford what you're asking."

"I don't know, Rich. I don't feel right charging you. You're practically family," Duncan said.

"You gotta want something."

"I know," Tessa said. "What if you did chores for us?"

Richie shrugged. "Like what?"

"Setting and clearing the table, taking out the trash, that sort of thing."

"You can help with the errands," Duncan added.

"That doesn't sound like much," Richie said. "Maybe that and I could pay you something."

"That won't be necessary," Tessa said. "I think as long as you're available to help around the house we should be even."

"I don't need you guys to do me any favors. I don't need charity."

"You'd really be doing us a favor," she told him. "With you here to help out, I could spend more time on my art."

"And your help in the store has made a big difference," Duncan added.

"The customers love you."

"And this place can be kind of hard to take care of when we get busy. But with a third person here, it would be much more manageable."

"Are you sure just a few chores is gonna be an even trade?"

"Well, meals are part of your pay for work so I don't see why doing some chores won't make us even," Duncan said.

"We can make it an open contract," Tessa said. "If you start to think we ask you to do too much or we think you aren't doing enough, we'll renegotiate."

"How does that sound, Rich?"

Richie shrugged. "I guess that's okay. Just be sure to tell me if I start slacking off or something."

"And you be sure to tell us if we push you too hard," Tessa added.

"So we're agreed?" Duncan asked. "Richie's taking the room?"

"Agreed," Tessa and Richie answered in unison.

##PRESENT 1994##

Richie sat at his new-to-him kitchen table in his new apartment and chewed on the end of his pen.

"Dear Bryan and Judith

I don't think I ever really told you how much all you did meant to me. You two are a very big part of why I am the way I am today. You taught me a lot about getting along with other people, especially men. I really appreciate everything you did for me and what you continue to do for other kids like me. You two really know what you're doing and it's good to know that there are people out there looking for the problem kids instead of avoiding them.

I know you took only minimal money from my child support checks. And only took the money out when it was necessary so that I would have a decent nest egg ready for me when I got out.

I'm sorry for all the fights I got into with Jake, all the times I disappeared on you and all the time I took up from you guys. I know you'd let me do it all again if I asked you to, but I am sorry.

Again, I really appreciate everything you did for me and what you do for the others. Thank you is not enough, but it's all I got.

Richie Ryan

P.S. Please accept the enclosed check as a small sign of gratitude. Use it to take the guys out for a nice dinner and a movie or something. Then treat yourselves to something nice."

Richie sealed the envelope with the letter and check for one thousand dollars inside, then got out another sheet of paper.

"To whom it may concern

Please use the enclosed check to treat the kids to something nice. As an alumnus of the West Side Orphanage, I know what a rare treat a field trip is. I hope this money can help put a fun one together for the kids.

Signed, Richard Ryan"

Again, in with the letter went a one thousand dollar check. Now he only had one more letter to write.

"To whom it may concern

I had some foster parents who were avid supporters of your organization. I have also been on the receiving side of the good work you do. An organization such as yours can never get too many donations. You help kids most people want to forget exist. I know you will put my money to the best use possible. Thank you."

He didn't sign the letter or put a return address on the envelope. He had even gotten a cashier's check instead of writing a personal check for three thousand dollars. He addressed the third and final envelope to the national headquarters for the Foundation for Abused and Neglected Children before getting his keys and heading for the door. Suddenly, he stopped and went back to the table and got another piece of paper.

"Jonathan

I sent the money to the kids who really need it. Maybe it can help a few kids like me who's lives were made hell by people like you.

Richie"

He sealed it in an envelope then left for the mail box at his street corner. He let the door to the mail box close with a satisfying slam. It was now officially over. It was all behind him and it was time to move on.

After mailing the letters, he walked the extra block to the market to get things for dinner. One of the conditions of moving out on his own was that Duncan would get to be his first dinner guest and he wanted to make him something good.

It was all he really could do. Duncan would have never accepted any money from him, no matter how much Richie insisted he deserved it for all he did for him. Richie would just end up getting a pay raise so Duncan could give him his money back. That was why Richie kept two thousand dollars of Cooper's money. This way he could afford a nicer apartment, in a nicer neighborhood, closer to the dojo like Duncan wanted. It wasn't as if Duncan was the only one who could be sneaky to get what he wanted.

The way Richie figured it, the extra money he had to spend on rent was just the money he had saved from getting to stay rent free with Duncan and Tessa. It was past time for him to pay them back for that.


End file.
